


Caught in the Fire

by banshee_in_the_dark



Series: you and me and everything [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Cunnilingus, Discipline, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Porn With Plot, Romance, Rope Bondage, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Spanking, Total Power Exchange
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:09:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 72,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banshee_in_the_dark/pseuds/banshee_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon Divergence post 1x13 - The Mountain Men never took Clarke and the others.</p><p>Among the threat of Grounders, Reapers, Mountain Men, Arkers and delinquents they're daily faced with, Bellamy recognizes a craving inside Clarke no one else has, not even herself, and he's just the man give her what she so needs to keep her, and himself, sane.</p><p>Or, when Clarke learns that it's okay sometimes to let someone take care of her, especially when that someone is Bellamy Blake and he promises lots of orgasms in return.</p><p>--</p><p>
  <b>Winner of Best Smut Fiction in the 2015 Bellarke Fanfiction Awards</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing around with this idea for a long time and now that the season is over I finally got the nerve to write it down. First things first, if you're uncomfortable with the topic and practice of Dominance/submission and power exchange in an intimate setting (that is, when two consensual adults have sex) I beg you to turn away. The first chapter is pretty light in that regard because it's the introduction of the concept, but the next chapters will be explicit. That is a warning and a promise.
> 
> On the same note, I'm not going to turn Clarke into a doormat or Bellamy into an abusive bastard. Informed and explicit consent and trust are the two pivotal elements in all and every intimate relationship between people, and even more so in one that includes elements of power exchange. This story will be heavy on the smut but at no point you will be left to wonder if either Clarke or Bellamy didn't want or were uncomfortable with what they're doing. 
> 
> Also, I'm ignoring the last two minutes of the finale. The Mountain Men never happened. Clarke and the others exit the drop ship and see everything burned out and that's it. 
> 
> Oh, and there's a plot too.

The first time the drop ship hatch opened there had been fresh air and sunshine and evergreen foliage waiting for them on the other side. The world around them was untouched and beautiful, it promised new beginnings and second chances. It was freedom.

Clarke remembers the way her eyes hurt that day. The colors were so vibrant, the sunlight so bright it blinded her. Life in the Ark was everything she knew, she could identify dozens upon dozens of shades of gray and black and dull, washed-out colors. She’d never come in contact with something as pure and vivid as the greens before her or the blue sky above. Even the bark of the trees and the dirt beneath her boots spanned a titillating array of browns. It was unreal. Even in her wildest dreams and fantasies Earth had never looked so stunning.

Now there are only ashes. Beneath their muddy boots, in the air, clinging to the charred remains of the surrounding trees. Everywhere. The camp stretches before her like a wasteland, littered with the unidentifiable burnt skeletons of their enemies, for the most part, but also their friends, people that didn’t make before she closed the hatch and whose death she’s responsible for.

A low murmur rises behind her, the voices of what’s left of the hundred laced with shock and horror. It was easy last night. High on adrenaline as they were, knowing it was kill or be killed, firing up the rockets and releasing hellfire upon the Grounders had seemed perfectly understandable. Let the fire be their salvation. They didn’t even have to hear the screams as they were inconsequential amidst the noise of the blast off. But seeing the ash still settling on the ground, floating about them with the wind opens their eyes to the harsh reality.

“Jesus.”

Clarke looks to her right, finding Jasper, still clutching his rifle at the ready. His eyes fly in all directions, never lingering for more than a second but taking in the sinister view all the same. She swallows through the lump in her throat, the welcomed numbness that took over her last night after closing the hatch washing away with every step she takes.

She starts shaking when she reaches the incinerated remains of two individuals lying close together, their skulls deformed in a perpetual scream.

“Is that…?”

She nods, looking up at Miller. The boy has taken off his beanie, an unheard of act really - she doesn’t think anyone has seen him without it since they landed- and is currently wringing it before him, eyes trained on the two bodies.

“This is where we last saw them,” her voice sounds harsh to her own ears, but at least it’s steady, unlike the rest of her body, wreaked by uncontrollable shivers.

They take a minute of silence, eyes and thoughts trained on the remains before them. Bellamy and Finn. She did this to them. To all of them. They died in agony and she can’t even scrunch up a few tears for them right now.

“Clarke,” Miller’s voice snaps her out of her musings. “What do we do now?”

“What?” she frowns, briefly glancing up to him from the corpses.

“With Bellamy gone, you’re all we have left,” he states, his voice calm and low mindful of the army of teenagers several feet behind them. “What do you want us to do now?”

“We need to find Monty,” Jaspers reminds her, wiping away his tears.

“We will,” she assures him. “But first we need to get the camp back to rights.”

He nods. “What do you want us to do?”

She looks from Jasper to Miller, the two boys waiting expectantly for her orders. Clarke steels her spine, standing taller before them than she really is, pushing her personal feelings and insecurities away from her mind. They have work to do.

“First things first, we need to take a headcount and figure out exactly how many people we lost,” she starts resolutely, then turns to Miller. “I want Anya tied down somewhere and two guards watching her at all times. If she tries to escape they have my permission to shoot her on the leg. After you take care of that, get a group to assess the damage to the wall and the gate and patch it up as best as you can. Protecting our perimeter is our priority today. We might’ve roasted Tristan’s army but we can’t slack our defenses, we’re too vulnerable.”

“On it,” with that Miller turns around and leaves, signaling the two guys standing guard at Anya’s sides to follow him.

“You and I need to get this place cleaned up,” Clarke says, rubbing the back of her sore neck.

“We have our work cut out for us,” Jasper agrees, surveying the devastation around them. “There’s no way we’ll be able to build the tents back up today though.”

“We’ll all pile back up in the drop ship and spend the night there,” she doesn’t care they all have to sacrifice their already limited intimacy, they aren’t making camp over human remains. “We should send out a group to the stream to collect fresh water, but everyone else is on cleaning duty until we get this place cleared up.”

“What about the Ark? There might be survivors.”

Clarke shakes her head. “We can’t afford to send out a search party right now.”

“We could set up a smoke signal,” he suggests. “That way they can find us.”

“That’s a good idea,” she acknowledges. “Let’s get to work.”

“You’re the boss,” he jokes half-heartedly, shoots her a quick smile before jogging back to the others.

Clarke sighs, already exhausted and the day hasn’t even begun. She turns to address the group. “Okay then, guys, here’s what we’re gonna do – ”

The sounds of scurrying feet, a groan, a curse echoing from the tunnel, stop her short before she can give any real instructions. There’s a moment of shock where panic descends on them – could it be more Grounders or worse, Reapers? – and they all hold their breath collectively. It probably doesn’t last more than two seconds but to Clarke, with the blood rushing through her head and her ears ringing, it feels like an eternity. They are not ready for another attack, they can’t do this again. Not now.

But as sudden as it was, the moment ends and they surge with activity. Clarke resolutely hurries to the opening of the tunnel, stopping just a few feet short. To her immediate left and right, Jasper and Miller, Monroe and another two gunners line up forming a semicircular front closing in on the entrance, with the rest of group standing behind them. They are nearly out of ammo, she estimates the gunners, including Jasper, can’t have more than two, possibly three rounds left in their rifles, and she knows for a fact Miller is all out. Whoever comes through that tunnel – the echo comes louder and louder as they approach – they need to take them out in quick fashion and pray no one’s following.

A big hulking shadow accompanies the sounds now, they’re almost at the mouth of the tunnel.

“Everyone ready?” Clarke asks to no one in particular, seeing the gunners nod out of the corner of her eyes.

At last the figure bursts out of the tunnel collapsing on the ground as a mass of unidentifiable limbs and Clarke resists the urge to jump back.

“Hold your fire!”

That voice…

“Hold your fire!” he rasps again, scrambling to his feet until he stands before them with one palm up, breath coming out erratically. Clothes torn and muddy, face bruised with a split lip and a horizontal cut across the bridge of his nose that might just leave a scar, holding onto a spiked wooden club, Bellamy Blake has returned to the camp.

“No way,” Jasper whispers, lowers his gun and engulfs him in a suffocating hug.

Clarke approaches them in a daze, watching as Bellamy returns the hug with as much sentiment as it was given, then clasping a hand on Miller’s shoulder as the boy grins and shakes his head in disbelief.

“You’re alive,” Clarke says, amazed.

He clears his throat. “Can’t get rid of me that easily,” he smirks, wincing as his hurt lip stings and starts bleeding again, soothing it and licking away the drop of blood with his tongue.

“You might wanna try to be cute when you don’t look half dead,” she arches her right eyebrow.

“Noted,” he coughs out. “Is Finn back yet?” he asks. The crowd has dispersed around them. She’s sure they all want to hear how Bellamy managed to escape the blast off, but they know better than to awkwardly stand about listening in on their conversations.

Clarke shakes her head, confused. “We thought you both died,” she signals with her hand around them. “He was with you? He made it out too?”

Bellamy nods. “We sneaked through the tunnels before you blasted off but then I lost him.”

“How is that possible?”

“We were running through the woods, he was leading the way and suddenly he was gone,” he explains, frowning. “I tried to find him but couldn’t. I assumed we’d meet back here.”

Clarke’s brows knit together and she looks away, worrying her lip. “And Octavia?”

“She’s with Lincoln. She’s safe.”

She recognizes the finality on his tone so she doesn’t pursue the subject of his sister further. “I’m sure Finn will turn up,” she declares after a moment with far more confidence than she’s feeling, taking a big breath and noting the many cuts and bruises on Bellamy’s face and neck. The black bruise on his left cheekbone worries her, it looks like there could be a hairline fracture there. And judging by all the coughing and rasping, his throat is clearly bothering him.

“Yeah, he will,” his words turn into a rumbling cough and he clears his throat to get rid of it.

“Come on,” she pulls him in the direction of the drop ship. “I need to check you up.”

“I’m fine,” he rasps, shaking his head. “We have a lot of work right now.”

“And it can wait,” she determines, curls her fingers around his wrist and pulls him behind her.

* * *

Night has fallen and the camp is slowly settling in for the night after a hard day of work. Bellamy leans against the section of the wall he fixed up with his own bare hands, watching everyone gathered in small groups around various fires, just kicking back and relaxing before they all head up back inside the dropship to sleep. They managed to get all the human remains and most of the ashes cleared away but the tents would have to wait until tomorrow.

Beyond the gate and just off the ridge a wide column of white smoke swirls in the air. Jasper had suggested a smoke signal to attract any survivors from the Ark, and they needed a way to get rid of the dozens of corpses of Grounders and Reapers that hadn’t been reached by the blast off, so they piled them all up and used some fuel as accelerant to get the flames burning.

It was a nasty business, and he’s sick to his stomach just remembering it. He and Clarke decided they could use the personal effects of the dead, particularly the clothing, with winter coming, so he and a small group were charged with the distasteful task of disrobing their enemy and collecting arrows and knives and bows from their corpses. Now that they were out of ammo, they needed weapons to protect themselves.

Anya was not too pleased to see they planned to burn her people alongside with the Reapers, and she spent the afternoon glaring and spitting at whoever came close to her, refusing food and water and rubbing her wrists bloody trying to free herself from her bonds.

The smell of burning human flesh has mostly dissipated by now but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget it. It made them all lose their appetite throughout the day and the only reason they even bothered to eat supper was because Clarke insisted they needed to replenish their energy.

And speaking about Clarke.

He doesn’t see her around any of the fires so he slips into the dropship to see if she’s there, checking up on Raven. He looks on every level but she’s nowhere to be found. Just before he starts to panic, he zeroes in on the mouth of the tunnel, feet carried by his instincts.

“Brave Princess, what are you doing out here all by yourself?”

She jumps when she hears his voice, startled, and he mentally gives himself a pat in the back for making the trek through the hollowed tunnel without making a noise. He’s about to go into a tirade when he sees she doesn’t have a gun or a weapon with her when a tiny sniffle stops him short, effectively knocking the impetus out of him.

“Go back to camp Bellamy,” she turns her face away reaching with her jacket sleeve to wipe away her tears.

“Clarke,” he kneels beside her. She tries to move away but he curls his fingers around her upper arms holding her in place, mindful of his strength so as not to hurt her. She came back to camp after being held by the Grounders with her whole body littered in scrapes and bruises, and he’s positive she’s gotten several more in the span of the last twenty four hours, he has no intention of bringing any more marks on her, not by his hand.

He can tell she’s been crying for a while now, her eyes are red rimmed and puffy, the delicate skin under them dusted in shadows and irritated where she no doubt rubbed angrily to wipe the tears away. The azure blue of her eyes is more brilliant in the moonlight than he’s ever seen it before. “What’s the matter?”

“I just needed a moment alone okay? I’m fine,” she assures him, taking a deep calming breath.

Bellamy arches his brow, taking a cursory glance at her huddled against the log wall of the foxhole, cross-legged and crying. “Clearly.”

“Seriously?” she glares at him. “I’m not in the mood Bellamy.”

“So talk to me.”

He settles down beside her, his back to the wall, shoulders touching, making a show of waiting patiently for her to open up.

“It’s just been a tough couple of days that’s all,” Clarke shrugs, fingers fiddling with a small hole on the knee of her pants. She looks up at him, opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

She shakes her head, her jaw set stubbornly and she averts her eyes. “Hey,” Bellamy bumps his shoulder against her, silently encouraging her to continue.

“I’m sorry I closed the hatch before you got in,” she finally says, her eyes piercing into his, sorrow swimming in the bottomless blue pools.

“Don’t be,” he frowns. “It was the right thing to do. I would’ve done the same, get as many people inside as possible and then blast off.”

She shakes her head again, a lone tear falling from her eye, splashing on her cheek, lips pursed in a severe line. “It doesn’t make me feel any less guilty. You and Finn got out alive but there were others – they were still fighting or they were hurt and I just let them die.”

“It was the right thing to do,” he repeats, squeezes her thigh comfortingly with his hand. “You made the right call.”

She nods, lips upturned in a grim line. “You know the last thing my mom told me before I was sent here was that my instincts would tell me to take care of everyone. And she was right, they did. Still do.”

“And you’re doing a damn good job if I do say so.”

She smiles fleetingly before looking away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. Apparently the Princess isn’t very good at accepting compliments. Now that he thinks about it, Bellamy’s never been particularly good at giving them either.

“But I hate it,” she goes on dejectedly. “I don’t know how you do it,” she shoots him a look and he couldn’t miss the strain and weariness lurking in her eyes if he was blind. “Knowing everyone back there counts on you and looks up to you and follows you, I just… how do you deal with such responsibility? How do you not feel crushed under the weight of it?”

He shrugs, taken aback by her question. He’s never seen Clarke so vulnerable and despondent and it unnerves him for some reason. She’s always been strong and resolute even in the direst of times, but now here she is, confessing she doesn’t think she can handle it anymore.

“I like control, being in charge,” he confesses, thinking back of all those years back in the Ark when he was responsible for his sister but essentially powerless to do much to protect her. Living with impending doom and uncertainty looming over your head makes you appreciate, crave even, being the one in control. “It focuses me.”

She grimaces. “Think it might do the opposite to me. Last night, they were ready to kill Anya, and I stopped them,” she whispers, voice laced with reluctant astonishment. “They stopped because I said so.”

“It was the right call,” he frowns, his eyes dancing over her features taking in the incredulity there.

“Yeah, and giving the order to shoot her if she tries to escape was also the right call, but that’s not the point,” she huffs impatiently, flexing her legs before her and sitting up straighter, her arms brushing against his. “I held her life in my hands. We could march back to the camp right now and tell her guards to shoot her and they would. We get to decide if she lives or dies the same way we did with Murphy and Lincoln.”

He clears his throat trying to get rid of the perpetual tickle there, and looks down. It doesn’t sit easy with him either, some of the choices they have to make. He doesn’t struggle with them as much as Clarke does, he usually recognizes what has to be done and does it, even if it makes him a monster. If he has to end a life or torture someone to save the people in that camp, then so be it. He doesn’t have to like it, he just has to do it. “It’s not easy being in charge.”

“I know I just… Sometimes I wish I wasn’t.”

A long silence follows, during which he’s alternately marveled by her confession and the wonderful array of possibilities she just unlocked in his brain, and the very urgent need to comfort her and make everything right, take the burden off her shoulders. But that’s not an option. He knows it, and has since he realized he needs her to keep the camp afloat, as much as she needs him. Without her they’d be dead, but he can tell the pressure of it all is slowly killing her on the inside and if she doesn’t do something about it she’ll snap and it won’t be pretty.

And what he’s about to suggest will probably get him punched, but he’s prepared to face the consequences. If he can get the Princess to stop feeling so miserable and, wonder of wonders, actually smile, it’ll be worth it.

“You don’t always have to be,” he finally says, cautiously.

She shakes her head in denial. “We made a deal, you and I are in this together. We are both essential to the survival of the camp. I’m not gonna walk away from that,” she declares, chin up and eyes tired but glowing with determination. “I couldn’t live with myself if I did. My instincts do tell me I need to take care of all this people and I’m going to follow them even if it drives me crazy.”

"That’s great, but that’s not what I meant.” He lets out a short awkward laugh at her confused frown. “I think you should just get well and truly fucked you know?”

“Bellamy!” she gasps outraged and hits him on the shoulder with surprising strength.

“What?” he smirks rubbing his sore shoulder. “You let someone else take the reins for a change and do all the work, give you an orgasm or five and you’ll be good as new.”

Clarke crosses her arms, inadvertently pushing her chest up, and glares at him. “Be serious.”

“I am.”

She looks like she might hit him again, so he braces for it, but it never comes. She just settles for shooting daggers at him and he smiles, ignoring the sharp sting of his lip. At least she’s not waddling in self-pity anymore.

Clarke’s eyes drop to his lips and she looks surprised to find him smiling. She swallows and looks away, tries to stealthily put some distance between their brushing limbs.

“So is that how you stay sane?” she asks after a moment, feigning indifference. “Lay flat on your back and get some girl to ‘do all the work’ like some sort of sex slave? Don’t you think that’s a little unfair? Not to mention disgusting.”

Bellamy gives her a level look. “I just told you five minutes ago I like being in charge. If there’s anyone calling the shots, it’s me.”

She actually gapes at him. It’s hilarious. Honestly, twenty four hours ago he was in this same foxhole shooting Grounders and fighting for his life and now he’s subtly educating Clarke Griffin in the complexity of sexual power exchange, and she is eating it up. Who would’ve thought?

“Then what do you get out of it?”

“We’re talking about fucking, Clarke, do you want me to draw you a picture? What do I get out of it,” he snorts the last part under his breath, shaking his head.

“I know what we’re talking about Bellamy,” Clarke says, irritated. “I am having a hard time wrapping my head around this whole concept though.”

“Then let me blunt. Some people get off by being in control. I get off by that,” he spells out, in case she didn’t get the point before. “I call the shots and you submit. General you, not you you,” he clarifies when he sees her go livid. “And you,” he stresses the word teasingly. “might get off by giving control up, by submitting.”

She clucks her tongue and shakes her head. “I don’t think I’m like that at all,” she breathes, suddenly feeling very warm.

“I think you are. Just picture it. Lying on your back, naked, with your pretty little legs spread and your hands secured over your head. Someone playing with your pussy making you come over and over until you can’t take it anymore. You can’t even close your legs ‘cause you’d get a stinging slap on the inside of your thigh for disobeying. But you wouldn’t struggle to get away, no, you’d be begging to get fucked.”

He can see it clearly in his mind. He’d hold her hands down with one of his making her come a few times on his fingers before her sweet begging convinces him to give her more. Then he would kiss every inch of her, telling her she needs to be quiet otherwise she’ll wake up the whole camp while he tastes her pussy. And when he finally got around to fucking her he would swallow her screams until she was limp and sated beneath him.

Bellamy feels himself stir in his pants as he watches Clarke squirm, her breathing speeding up and coming in short puffs through her mouth and her pupils dilating, all clear signs of arousal. But Clarke is either completely unaware of her reaction or she’s actively choosing to ignore it. “Sorry, not doing anything for me.”

“Okay,” Bellamy accepts easily, a smirk playing in his lips and his eyes piercing hers. “If you say so, Princess.”

“I do,” she states, quickly, as if it would refute the notion. “It all sound so… extreme. And incredibly imbalanced,” she averts her eyes clearing her throat. “It’s a two-person job, you can’t just let the other do all the work. You have to pull your own weight.”

Bellamy bursts out laughing, nearly toppling over and holding his side. “If you think of it as a job, then you’re not doing it right,” he says between gasping laughter and wheezing coughs.

“Shut up.”

“No seriously, ‘pull your own weight’? It’s sex not a scavenging trip. Pull your own weight…”

“Well, forgive me if I prefer reciprocity,” Clarke snaps.

“Hey,” he cuts her short. “There’s reciprocity alright. Believe me.”

“And pray tell, how does that work?” Clarke rolls her eyes, doing her best to sound annoyed and uninterested, but Bellamy can see the fire building in her eyes, stoked by his words.

He licks his lips and grins wolfishly. “I can demonstrate if you want,” he offers, immensely enjoying the way she squirms under his gaze. “It’d be a hell of a lot more fun. Of course, you’d have to be on your knees,” he adds casually.

“And we’re done talking about this!” Clarke jumps to her feet and clears her throat, dusts the dirt off her pants and expertly avoiding his eyes. “It’s getting late. We should head back.”

Bellamy hums, crossing his arms over his chest and looking up at Clarke. “I don’t know. You could use a little more cheering up.”

Clarke blinks, obviously taken back by his words. Bellamy smirks. Sure his method included teasing her and some verbal foreplay, but his intentions were sincere.

A smile tugs at the corner of her lips and Bellamy’s heart does a weird thing, swelling and making his breath catch.

“You’ve cheered me up alright,” Clarke insists, actually smiling back at him. 

He grins lopsidedly, triumphant. “Okay then,” he holds out his hand to her in a silent plea to help him up. She takes it tentatively, a persistent blush on her cheeks. Bellamy smirks to himself, curling his fingers tightly around her hand and stealthily pushing up to his feet when she pulls. He didn’t need her help, obviously, but he manages to destabilize her enough to catch her against him.

He wraps his arm around her waist to keep her from falling and face-planting on the mud, holding her tight against his chest. “Easy there,” he cautions, unable to repress his shit eating grin and getting a steady glare in return.

“Thank you.” She pushes away from him, adjusts her jacket and turns around, ducking at the entrance of the tunnel and giving Bellamy a splendid look of her ass. “Are you coming?”

Oh, is he ever.

“Right behind you Princess,” he smirks, following her into the tunnel. “Lead the way.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I want to thank all of you guys for the support and the incredible feedback. I was not expecting so much encouragement :D
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. It took forever to write and it's way longer than I had planned but half of it is shameless smut so hopefully you won't have much complains ;)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr if you want! I'm bansheeinthedark (previously bellohmyblake)

Clarke fantasized about Earth constantly back in the Ark, eyes trained on the blue orb through the small window of her family’s apartments, so close she felt she could just reach out and touch it. She dreamt about the ground and the grass and the smells, about vast pools of water and the gentle breeze tickling her skin.

The water is fucking cold. And the breeze doesn’t tickle as much as bites on every inch of her exposed skin, painfully and unforgivingly. But as unpleasant as it is, wading in the freezing water is infinitely better than the layer of dirt and sweat and blood she’s acquired recently.

She scrubs her face and body with a cloth, sufficiently submerged in the stream to cover her nudity, gradually feeling more like a person and less animalistic as her fair skin becomes visible with every swipe of the washcloth. She braves the cold and the possibility of catching pneumonia taking her time to wash away all the blood and mud caked on her hair, threading her fingers through her locks and gently disentangling every knot she encounters. She takes especial care not to accidently pick on the scabs on her cheek and forehead, product of her short lived captivity. The cuts and scrapes weren’t deep and she’s disinfected the area as best as possible with moonshine, but the skin beneath the scabs is still too delicate, the telling itch indicating they were still healing.

She wades for a few minutes on the cool water once she’s completed her bath, reluctant to get out now that she’s somewhat accustomed to the temperature, lids falling shut under the lull of the distant whacking on wood. Under the clear sky, with the cover of night receding as the sun lazily rises on the horizon, surrounded by towering trees and the singing of birds, she can almost forget about the dozen of things she has to do that day, if only for just a few minutes. She can pretend she doesn’t have a care in the world, that she’s not actively fighting for her life every second of every day.

But as if her brain was wired to allow her only a little time to relax, all her worries and concerns come rushing back in, one by one, until her head feels like exploding.

She has to task a group with sorting out all the clothing they took from the dead Grounders and wash it.

(She needs to ask Jasper about making soap.)

They have to rebuild the tents.

(Some of the structures were damaged with blast off, Bellamy needs to get one of the guys to evaluate if they’re still safe.)

They need to send out a hunting party.

(But what’s the point without a smoke room.)

They need to rebuild the smoke room.

(That’s probably what Bellamy’s doing cutting down trees.)

(No, she didn’t accidentally spy on him before going to the stream.)

(Yes, he looked glorious without his shirt.)

Anya needs to be dealt with.

(They get to torture another human being. Nice.)

Finn isn’t back yet.

(Where is he?)

Monty’s still gone.

(He could very well be already dead.)

Raven may never walk again.

(But she’ll live. Hopefully.)

The sharp sound of a tree snapping and falling brings her back from her gloomy musings. It’s still too early for the camp to rise, especially considering how tired they all were last night, but it won’t be long before they all start doing their chores (and she doesn’t doubt Bellamy will be dragging Miller and some of the other guys from their warm beds to bring back all the wood he cut down back to camp) so she needs to shake a leg and get dressed before she’s spotted naked.

She quickly dries herself with one of the few and precious towels they recovered from the art supply store and that has been passing through reverent hands around camp, putting her clothes back on. The best thing about taking an icy bath first thing in the morning, besides feeling actually clean despite wearing the same clothes as before, is that it completely washed away the exhaustion of three sleepless nights, and counting. She hasn’t slept more than a grand total of five hours since she was taken by the grounders. Granted, being abducted and then fighting for her life had given her the necessary rush of adrenaline to actually make it through the whole ordeal alive, and then operating on Raven trying to save her life while the Grounders burned around the drop ship, weren’t exactly situations conducing to sleep. But last night was different.

She was exhausted but try as she might she just couldn’t fall asleep. She tossed and turned all night, a thousand thoughts swimming around her head, Finn’s whereabouts standing out among them, selfishly, and her conversation with Bellamy piercing her thoughts, intruding, irrationally, no matter how much she pushed his words away.

_ “Some people get off by being in control. I get off by that. I call the shots and you submit. You might get off by giving control up.” _

It’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. And yet… she can’t stop thinking about it. The picture Bellamy painted for her – a very vivid, explicit picture – keeps playing in her head on repeat, drying her mouth and making a maddening beat pulse low in her belly.

_ “…pretty little legs spread … hands secured over your head…. Someone playing with your pussy making you come until you can’t take it anymore…” _

That’s not… That’s not how it works, she’s pretty sure. Or, at least her limited experience with Finn didn’t indicate anything of that sort. With him it was tender and gentle touches and kisses and sweet words that ultimately meant nothing. It was nice, she enjoyed it despite the awkwardness of being intimate with someone for the first time. She’d felt wrapped in a warm light as gentle waves lapped through her.

The images Bellamy put in her brain, on the other hand, put every nerve ending in her body on alert. Her skin felt taut as if she were a elastic band stretched to the limits, just waiting for that that last inch, that final hard pull that would make her snap and send her skyrocketing through the air.

_ “You wouldn’t struggle to get away, no, you’d be begging to get fucked.” _

Clarke lets out a shaky breath, walking on weak knees back to camp. Thoughts like that kept her up all night, flustered and undeniably wet, covertly squeezing her thighs and rubbing them together in a useless effort to placate the surprising need pulsing there. It’s so frustrating. She has a whole night of sweet memories with Finn that at most make her smile nostalgically and her heart skip a beat when she relives them, but a few words from Bellamy and she was tempted to touch herself surrounded by sleeping teenagers.

The severe sleep deprivation and high levels of stress are probably wreaking havoc on her hormones. That’s the only reasonable explanation for her reaction.

Having reasoned and rationalized her feelings, she marches back to camp. She has a long day ahead.

* * *

“I wish we didn’t have to do this.”

Bellamy briefly tears his gaze away from the scene unfolding before him to Clarke standing at his side nibbling absentmindedly at the tip of her thumb, her eyes trained on Anya as she’s carried up the ladder to the higher levels of the dropship by Miller and Duncan, hands and ankles tied up.

“Not exactly looking forward to it either,” he admits. It’s as much as an admission of unease as he’s willing to express. Inside, he might struggle with the idea of causing another human being pain to get something he wants, but he has a responsibility to their people he can’t shirk off. He’s there to make the tough decisions and execute them. Odds are he’ll leave this place as less of the man his mother raised him to be, but he’s strangely okay with that if it means he gets what they desperately need. “But we need information.”

Clarke hums in agreement, lips pressed in a tight line.

They haven’t spoken much today, just a short meeting early in the morning when they laid down the basic chores they aimed to get accomplished that day and what they would each handle individually. It was pretty obvious she had no interest in continuing or acting upon their conversation from the night before, so he took his cue from her and pretended it didn’t happen, even if the sight of Clarke freshly bathed captivated him. Her hair was still wet then, the dampness weighting it down and darkening it. As the day progressed he found himself looking at her whenever she passed the section he was working on rebuilding the smoke room, admiring how her hair dried until it was the fair golden color he remembers from their first day on earth.

He balls his fist, fighting the uncontrollable urge to run his fingers through her hair. “You don’t have to be here for this.”

“I do,” she states, raising her eyes to him. The shadows beneath them worry him. He saw her toss and turn all night across the room. He sets his jaw, making a mental note to watch out for her tonight and make sure she actually gets some sleep.

They move closer to the ladder, his stomach dropping lower in his gut with every step he takes as he considers what he’s going to have to do to Anya to get her to talk, but Clarke stops him mid-step with a hand on his arm, frowning. “Maybe we won’t have to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, think about it. Lincoln didn’t talk no matter what we did to him and he wasn’t a warrior. He was their healer. Anya was their leader, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was trained to not reveal any vital information under torture.”

“But Lincoln ended up giving us what we wanted,” he crosses his arms over his chest, cocking his head to the side as he follows her train of thought. “Because of Octavia.”

“Physical torment may not break her but I’m betting the possibility of going back to her family might get her to cooperate,” the words fall of Clarke’s mouth in an excited rush.

Bellamy frowns, hesitant to let the tiny spark of hope bloom inside him. “But we killed all her people.”

She shakes her head. “Not all of them, just the warriors. I overheard her and Tristan talking about a commander so there’s at least one person out there she answers to, what’s to say she doesn’t have family or people she cares about too?”

He nods. This is good. This is promising. Maybe they can convince Anya to give them the information they need without actually torturing her.

They quickly hash out a plan of action before climbing up the ladder. Clarke outright refuses his offer to let her go first (he was trying to be a gentleman) and instead follows him up. When they reach the top level they find Anya strung up in very much the same fashion Lincoln had been a few weeks before, glaring bitterly at them.

Bellamy strolls towards her, his steps heavy and carefully measured. He tilts her chin up with his knuckles and categorically inspects the marks on her face, a rainbow of purple bruises already fading to green and yellow, gifts from the teenagers who had to watch their friends die at the hands of her people. He clucks his tongue sardonically and nods to Clarke where she’s standing a few steps back. “You know she’s the only reason you’re alive, right?”

Anya turns her nose up. “She is the reason my people are dead,” she spits out.

“There’s two ways we can do this,” Bellamy continues speaking as if he didn’t hear a word she said. “My way,” he picks up the improvised shock baton he asked Jasper to put together from pieces of scrap metal, wired to the panel on the wall where all the ship’s power runs through, and dangling it before him as Anya looks at him uneasily. “Or her way.”

On cue, Clarke steps closer. “We don’t want to hurt you,” she assures her, her face open with honesty. “We want peace. If you just tell us what we need to know, we will return you to your people. I’m sure your commander wants you back.”

Anya snorts, features hardening bitterly. “I lost. The Commander has no use of me now. And I wouldn’t help you. You killed my people.”

“Your people tried to kill us,” Bellamy cuts in, glowering.

“You took one of our friends,” Clarke steps directly in front of Anya, forcing her to make eye contact. “The same night you took me and Finn. Where is he?”

A moment passes, Anya’s face unreadable. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you,” she sneers.

“Okay,” Bellamy is on her, brandishing the shock baton near her midsection with sparks flying from the tip and she jerks away, scared.

“Bellamy, no!” Clarke cries, making a show of standing between the two of them and pushing him back. With her back to Anya she smirks slightly at him before continuing with the charade, her voice laced with feigned indignation. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt her.”

“If she cooperated,” he adds, giving her what he knows is a convincing glare.

“Just let me try.”

With that she turns around, a small apologetic smile curling her lips. “Just give us something. Help us and we’ll let you go. Don’t you have any loved ones you want to go back to?” a look of uncertainty flashes through Anya’s dark eyes. “Tell us about the Reapers. What do you know about them?”

Anya glances from Clarke to Bellamy and back to her, visibly weighing her options. “Not much,” she finally says. “They are flesh eating monsters we tell our children stories about.”

“How many of them are there?”

She shrugs, glancing at Bellamy’s forbidding figure standing at Clarke’s back. “We only know of the ones in the tunnels. If there are more on this land I’ve never seen them.”

Clarke looks over her shoulder, easily finding his gaze. Interest and a flicker of excitement swim in the blue depths of her eyes. If those tunnels are empty and they’re habitable, they can pass the winter there. It’s worth a shot, so he adds a scouting trip to the tunnels to his ever growing mental to-do list.

“And our friend?” Bellamy probes.

“We didn’t take him,” Anya states, eyes burning as she glowers at Clarke. “We had our hands full.”

“Well he didn’t just disappear. And Finn never made it back to camp either after the battle.”

“I have been here since then and all my people are dead,” she snaps. “I have no answers for you.”

Clarke sighs, frustrated and brushes past Bellamy. He watches her go out of the corner of his eye.

“But you might find them in Mount Weather,” Anya says cryptically after a moment.

She proves to be of little help beyond that, only providing the necessary information to contact her commander and whether a truce is viable. She doesn’t seem to be very convinced but she admits that they defeated her army and their most experienced rangers so by the rules of war they have conquered this territory, and as such her commander would be remiss to send more troops before terms of peace could be discussed.

In the end they decide Bellamy will take a small group on a recon expedition to Mount Weather the next day. He can tell Clarke would very much like to join them, but with Raven still in critical condition she needs to stay.

“Besides,” he says, his tone light and teasing as he holds the flap open for her as they exit the drop ship. “One of us has to be here. We can’t leave the children alone.”

(He knows he’s in trouble when her blush and the sound of her unexpected short burst of laughter stay with him for the rest of the day.)

* * *

She gets approximately one hour of actual sleep before a particularly loud snore across the room startles her and just like that she’s wide awake and alert and unable to go back to sleep. Clarke swears under her breath and rolls to her back, glaring at the steel ceiling of the drop ship.

The blast off that saved them from the Grounders also caused severe damage to the tents’ frame structures so not all of them were salvageable. The parachute fabric they used was intact, as they’d had the good conscience of packing it up and taking it with them during their short lived trek to the sea, but the carefully woven twigs and pieces of scrap metal that had given support to the tents had stayed behind.

They did manage to build up half of them so the drop ship is considerately empty in comparison with the previous nights, but there are still about thirty people around her. Some snore, some have trouble sleeping just like her, some let out little whimpers and cries that indicate they are plagued by nightmares.

Next to Clarke and against a corner, Raven sleeps peacefully, her chest rising and falling evenly. The sickly pallor has receded and her skin is rapidly regaining her healthy olive complexion. She hasn’t woken up since Clarke operated on her two nights ago, but she’s confident she will make a full recovery. The swelling on her lower back has gone down considerately and the seaweed tea helps a great deal keeping the fever away. Whether she will ever walk again is still undecided. The bullet didn’t actually touch her spine but it came scarily close and Clarke simply has no way to assess the nerve damage that might’ve occurred until Raven wakes up and tells her if she feels her legs or not.

With a sigh, Clark pushes herself up on her elbows, surveying the room and the sleeping people, frowning when she fails to find Bellamy propped up against the wall across the room. Last night, knowing he was over there, wondering if he was watching her as she gradually became aroused reliving their conversation nearly drove her crazy.

She sits up, cranes her head from one side to the other trying to find him in the sea of sleeping teenagers, but no such luck. Finally she looks up, noticing the light washing over the ladder. It’s too faint to come from the second level.

Before she knows it, Clarke is standing before the ladder, fingers curling on the rungs and resolutely climbing up the two flights. She finds him sitting cross-legged in front of the pile of weapons they retrieved from the Grounders, testing the sharpness of a machete longer than her forearm on his thumb.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He raises his head, a wide eyed look of alarm crossing his features before he realizes it’s just Clarke. She’s momentarily surprised and pleased with herself, since Bellamy is generally so aware of his surroundings that catching him off guard is impossible. Yet here she is, sneaking up on him without meaning to, getting to see a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes before he tucks it away.

(The fact that the machete is a near replica of the one Lincoln gave her for Octavia, and that the girl wielded fiercely of the battlefield, does not escape her. He misses his sister and has no way of knowing is she’s okay. No wonder he can’t sleep.)

“What are you doing?”

“Well, there’re only nine bullets left so I’m leaving the guns with you to guard Anya, and I have a feeling my axe isn’t gonna cut it on Mount Weather so,” he gestures to the pile before him and she notices a second much smaller pile on the side, weapons he presumably plans to take with him tomorrow.

“Do you think we can trust her?” she worries her lip, her forefinger picking insistently the flayed skin on the side of her thumb.

“No.”

But what choice do they have?

“Stop doing that,” Bellamy growls.

She looks up sharply, confused under the intensity of his glare. He raises an eyebrow and minutely nods to her hand, and Clarke is suddenly embarrassed. She doesn’t know when exactly she picked up the habit of biting her nails and nibbling on the flesh around them whenever she’s anxious, but the result is truly disgusting. All her nails are reduced to short, uneven stumps, and the tender skin around them is red and angry where she nibbled on them until she drew blood. And even when she’s not biting on them, she picks at her fingers with her short nails. She keeps catching herself doing it but can’t seem to stop herself.

Clarke has the irrational urge to apologize, but quickly beats it to submission. It’s a ghastly habit and she knows it but they’re her hands and she doesn’t answer to anyone, not even Bellamy.

He carefully sheathes the machete in its leather vine and puts it on the pile with the assortment of knives and daggers and the spiked club he came back to camp wielding, stands up and crosses the room to where she’s standing by the ladder. Clarke stands her ground, not moving back even when he steps awfully close to her, invading her space. She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until Bellamy’s hand reaches out and grabs hers, pulling it so close to his face to inspect the damage she caused on her fingers she can feel his breath fanning on her palm. The pad of his thumb soothes over her knuckles and she’s glad he’s not actually looking at her because she’s sure her eyes would give away the turmoil inside her.

“You shouldn’t hurt yourself like this,” his voice is a low rumble in his throat and she breaks in uncontrollable shivers as his eyes bore into hers and a familiar fluttering settles low in her belly.

“I can’t help it,” and it’s doubly true, because she’s as powerless to stop biting her nails as she is to becoming aroused when he looks at her like that and the ghost of his words from the other night plants the seed of curiosity inside her.

“You’re not sleeping, biting your nails… You’re tense as a rock. How long before you snap and start pulling your hair and screaming at everybody?”

“And what do you suggest?” she asks, jutting her chin up stubbornly.

The side of his mouth turns up while his gaze devours her and speaks of all the things he wants to do to her. Right. She knows exactly what he suggests.

She narrows her eyes. “We made a good team today,” she says.

“We generally do,” Bellamy nods, a bit thrown by the sudden change of topic.

Clarke smiles wryly, drops her hand from his and turns around.

“This is not going to work for me,” she declares, foot tapping the circular hatch of the ladder. His jaw slackens but she continues talking before he can get a word in. “The things you said to me last night were incredibly inappropriate,” she informs him sternly, smiling internally as Bellamy puts his hands on his hips and drops his head forward, staring at the ground and remaining passive as she tells him off.

Clarke licks her lips, her heartbeat speeding up as she kneels down to close the hatch and jamming it closed with a thud so no one is inclined to come up. Bellamy’s head snaps up, looking momentarily surprised to see her on her knees, his puzzled frown giving way to an intense gaze.

She needs to take a deep breath to calm the excitement tearing through her before standing up. _“I can demonstrate if you want… You’d have to be on your knees.”_

(She should not be this turned on by Bellamy Blake looming over her. Get a grip Clarke.)

“But I can’t stop thinking about it,” she admits valiantly, standing up to face him. “Even though you’re probably wrong.”

He half smirks, giving her a once over that leaves her squirming and silently calls bullshit on her prediction. “So what, you think you’ll prove me wrong and just move on after?”

That… Sounds about right. Yes. She’s ready to test his theory about giving up control making her feel better, not because she wants to but because this whole mess is impairing her judgment and keeping her from functioning properly. She spied him when he was cutting down a tree with his shirt off this morning and she grinned like an idiot for an embarrassingly long time after his stupid quip this afternoon after playing mind games with their prisoner, for fuck’s sake. She and Bellamy are supposed to be a team but she can’t do that if she’s constantly thinking about how his hands would feel on her and if there’s but a figment of truth to his theory.

So she nods, her heart beating a wild tattoo against her ribcage as Bellamy smiles wolfishly, his dark eyes smoldering like hot coals as he walks her back against the metal wall.

“Are you sure about that, Princess?” he crowds her against the wall, so close her breasts brush against his chest with every breath she takes, and runs the back of his fingers down the line of her neck.

“Let’s just get it over with,” she says, trying to keep her voice even while her pulse beats wildly under his knuckles. The sooner they can get this silly sexual tension between them out of the way and she can prove to him (and herself) that this whole business of giving up control is of no consequence whatsoever to her mental state, she can move on and focus on things far more important.

He chuckles, challenging her apparently disinterested words as his hand settles at the base of her neck, the weight of it against her throat speeding up her breathing. “If you’re uncomfortable or want me to stop, say red.”

She blinks. “Why?”

“Because you need a safe word.”

“Isn’t ‘stop’ or ‘no’ enough?”

“Not with power play. You might be into it.” She rolls her eyes and he laughs lowly. “It’s a thing, I promise. Some people get off pretending they don’t want something and having it forced on them.”

“Not me.”

“Okay. We’re still using red just in case.”

“Fine.”

The word is barely past her lips when Bellamy lowers his face to hers, swallowing her shocked gasp as he feasts on her mouth with tender biting kisses, sucking in her lower lip and licking teasingly at the roof of her mouth. Her hands curl on his strong shoulders, drawing him closer, but he shakes his head, never breaking the kiss, as his hands shoot up to trap her wrists and lowering her arms to her sides. A tremor runs through her as she becomes aware that she can’t break away from his grip.

Bellamy claps her lip between his teeth and slowly pulls away, placing a soothing kiss over the abused lip before moving to nibble her earlobe and plant open mouthed kissed down the line of her neck, stopping to suction over her dancing pulse. Clarke strains, pushing herself flush against him.

Finally he releases her hands but the warning look he gives her indicates she’s not allowed to move them yet. He sneaks his hands underneath her top, the heat of his palms searing her skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps as he slowly pushes them up. His fingers dig on the sides of her ribcage when he reaches the line of her breasts and his thumbs expertly settle over her nipples, rubbing soft circles over the material of her bra.

Clarke moans, suddenly very glad that they’re two levels over the sleeping teenagers and that she made sure to lock the hatch.

“Raise your hands,” Bellamy orders, his breath hot against the tender skin just beneath her jaw. Clarke complies without much of a thought, raising her arms over her head as Bellamy pushes her top up and off, and removing her bra in quick succession, leaving her exposed to his heated gaze.

She starts to lower her arms but he shakes his head again. His hands settle on the underside of her arms, raking up slowly, the countless callous in them maddeningly abrasive against her sensitive skin, until they reach her wrists, finally crossing one over the other and holding both in the tight grip of one hand.

Clarke’s not a virgin and granted she doesn’t exactly have much experience but this… this isn’t like anything she’s ever felt before. All they’ve literally done is kiss and he barely touched her, but she’s about ready to combust judging by the steady pulsing in her pussy and the wetness she’s embarrassed to know gathered there the minute Bellamy held her down.

(She might be a little bit in trouble here.)

Satisfied with her hands secured over her head, Bellamy starts to lazily explore her chest, trailing his fingers on the underside of her breasts, cupping the soft globes one by one and rubbing his palm on her nipples until the little nubs harden to pointed tips. Clarke arches against him, straining for more. His lips descend until they touch the tops of her heaving breasts, kissing every inch of her except her needy nipples. 

He rains kisses up her neck, cheeks and forehead, but no matter how she turns her face to offer her lips, he shies away, changing paths. Bellamy trails down the valley between her breasts, bathing her copious breasts with the flat of his tongue. There’s a mole on the side of her left nipple and he suckles it so hard she whimpers, sure he’ll leave a mark.

Through it all he manages to avoid her nipples, and it drives her crazy. She heaves, pushing her chest against him to no avail, his chuckles low and rumbling.

Bellamy’s hand tightens almost painfully on her wrists and Clarke’s breath catches in her throat. “Keep them up,” he says against her lips, leaving a teasing kiss there as he releases his grip on her and flicks open the button of her jeans.

He sneaks his hand inside her pants, thrusting a knee between her legs to open her, growling when he makes contact with her wet folds. Bellamy sucks her nipple inside his warm mouth, teasing the seam of her pussy before pushing a finger inside her. Each draw of his mouth tugs at the tension coiled low in her belly, making her shudder and her pussy clench around his long finger.

His warning to keep her arms up quickly becomes hard to follow as her muscles start to burn from the effort and she uselessly gropes for purchase on the smooth steel of the wall. Bellamy’s head falls to the nook of her shoulder with a growled curse passing his lips as he pushes two fingers inside her, her walls tightening around the sudden intrusion and thrusting steadily while his other hand plucks her nipples just shy of painfully.

He touches a particularly wonderful spot inside her, making her hips jerk forwards and a tiny scream escapes her. Everything inside her tenses up and she knows, she knows she’s almost there. Her arms lower, exhausted, and she threads her fingers through his wild curls.

Bellamy immediately pulls back, removing his hand from her pants and curling it around her hip, the wetness in his fingers sticking to her skin and sending a bolt of awareness striking through her.

Bellamy Blake just had his fingers inside her pussy. Bellamy Blake knows exactly how wet he can make her.

Bellamy Blake fucking stopped before it got really good and she would kill him if she weren’t so desperate for him to finish what he started.

“I thought I told you to keep your hands up,” his brows draw together and she’d take his stern look at face value and be pretty concerned if she didn’t detect a flicker of triumph on his dark eyes.

“I…” she doesn’t really have an explanation, so Clarke just shrugs, wincing as her shoulders pull painfully.

He turns her around, his hands a heavy weight on her shoulders before he starts to rub them soothingly, capturing the cluster of knots beneath his fingers one by one, rubbing slow circles over them with his thumbs until they dissipate under his tireless efforts. There’s nothing sexual about the way he’s touching her, besides the fact that she’s half naked and his impressive hard on brushes against her lower back, but that doesn’t keep heat from licking at her core and Clarke gradually softens against him lulled by the steady mapping of his calloused fingers on her back until she’s sure she’d collapse on the floor if he wasn’t holding her.

“Were your shoulders bothering you?” his voice is but a whisper in her ear and she nods, eyes firmly shut. “If you’re in pain or uncomfortable you have to let me know. That’s what the safeword is for.”

“Okay,” his hands brush down her arms, rubbing random patterns on the inside of her elbows when they get there, and she squirms against him, eager to get back to the part where he paid attention to other parts of her. She turns her head back, burying her nose on his neck and breathing his heady scent (apparently he bathed sometime today too, which is fortunate) and places a kiss there so tender it startles him, making him grip her elbows harder. Clarke wantonly rolls her backside against his crotch but other than a low grunt and his breathing speeding up, she doesn’t get the desired reaction out of Bellamy. He’s completely passive behind her and it’s driving her mad. “Please, Bellamy.”

It’s like he was waiting for her to ask nicely. (He probably was.)

He turns them both around facing the rest of the room and settles a hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her forward until they reach the table they keep the remains of the radio on. Clarke braces her hands on the edge, moaning as Bellamy kicks her legs open and roughly pushes down her pants. He presses himself to her back, rocking his crotch against her back. He loops an arm around her waist holding her steady and sneaks his other hand inside her pussy through her front and starts fucking her in earnest with his fingers as he nibbles on her shoulder. The change in pace is so abrupt she jerks against him, gripping the edge of the table with one hand and digging her nails on his forearm holding her up, biting back her moans.

He whispers in her ear “You can come now.” And, as if she was waiting for his permission, she does, collapsing on the table and breathing heavily as her walls grip his fingers.

It’s a while before she comes round but when she finally lifts her lids she becomes aware of three things. One, she’s now laying on her back on the table with her ass precariously perched on the edge and her pants have disappeared. Two, Bellamy’s pants remain intact except he’s unbuckled them to let out the jutting cock he’s slowly stroking while looking at her. And three, he’s bigger than Finn.

Worryingly big. It might present a problem if he plans to fuck her.

(He better fuck her.)

Bellamy parts her legs pushing her knees up and standing between them. The rough material of his jeans burns against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs and Clarke worries her lower lip, writhing impatiently as Bellamy guides the tip of his cock inside her. He watches her closely, drinking in her reactions and giving her ample time to balk.

“Okay?” he asks, and it irrationally brings tears to Clarke’s eyes because he was very clear he’d stop only if she said the safeword but here he is checking she’s still on the same page as him because he noticed her moment of hesitance.

She trusts him. It’s not exactly a novel discovery on her part, she’s known for a while that if she trusts anyone implicitly, it’s Bellamy. She’s not sure when it started or what he did to earn it (he’s done too much, truly) but he has her trust, always, but especially now.

Words clog up in her throat so Clarke just nods and, in a moment of inspiration, raises her arms above her head gripping her hands together.

The effect on Bellamy is immediate. He inhales sharply, his fingers dig into her fleshy thighs and he surges inside her, groaning. Clarke bites back a scream as he drives in, parting her swollen tissues with his wide cock. Her body protests the invasion, unaccustomed to his girth and length, but her legs lock around his waist, reluctant to let him go. He ducks down, kissing the beads of sweat that have gathered in the valley between her breasts, giving her a moment to adjust to him before he starts steadily thrusting in and out.

Bellamy cups the back of her head, drawing her up for a mind-numbing kiss. With a shattered whimper against his lips, Clarke’s body begins to tremble beneath his, every muscle coiled tight until a slight change in angle makes the tip of his cock bump the bundle of nerves inside her she didn’t know existed and a world of color explodes before her eyes. She clings to him, waves of pleasure crashing through her and with a gruff cry, Bellamy goes rigid and swells inside her before coming.

(She’d be angry that her plan backfired if she wasn’t so blissed out.)

* * *

His breath fogs before him in the chilly pre-dawn air. Next to him, Jasper’s teeth clatter as he hugs himself in an effort to keep warm.

“I hate seasons,” he laments. “I miss temperature control.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, his thumb testing the sharpness of the axe looped through his belt. “We’ll warm up when we start walking.” He perks up watching Harper and Duncan, both pale and looking half-asleep, walking in their direction, weapons at the ready and backpacks slung over their shoulders. “Can we get a move on now?” he asks rhetorically, not bothering to hide his irritation. They were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago.

They mumble an apology and he shakes his head indicating they should wait for him by the gate. Jasper follows them.

Clarke approaches him holding out a satchel. “That’s all the medical supplies we can spare,” she informs him, eyes focused somewhere in the vicinity of his forehead, actively avoiding looking at him. “Try not to waste them.”

The side of his mouth turns up, amused. Bellamy goes to grab the satchel, purposefully letting his fingers brush against hers, grinning when she blushes and covertly looks around to make sure no one is watching them.

“Sleep well last night?”

Now she looks at him. Well, it’s more of a glare, but he’ll take it. He knows damn well she slept like a baby after he fucked her brains out. After all, he’s the one who carried her half unconscious body to the second level of the drop ship. He would’ve stayed with her too, but Jasper had the last watch and he would come looking for him come morning when it was time to leave on their arranged field trip to Mount Weather. He figured Clarke would want to keep whatever the hell was going on between them a secret, and he was more than happy to oblige, so he went down and slept on his own spot on the base level.

“Take the map,” he can tell she’s resisting the urge to slap him across the face with it so he just takes it with a nod of thanks and carefully tucks it inside his jacket.

Painfully aware of the three pairs of eyes trained on him and waiting for him expectantly by the gate, he gives Clarke one last knowing look and walks away.

“Bellamy?” he hears her call for him when he’s a few steps away. He turns around, brow quirked up. Clarke bites the inside of her cheek, holding back a smile. “Don’t die.”

He drops his head forward, shaking it with amusement. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take the time to leave a comment! I love hearing from you :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I UPDATED. I had to deal with some stuff, mainly work and my grandma was in an accident so now she's staying with me needs constant care so you could say I've been busy. The good news is this chapter was originally so long I had to split it in two, so you'll get another update in the next couple of days :D
> 
> This chapter is more plot than porn so I apologize, but the next one? I think you won't be disappointed by that one.

“Oh fuck. Oh FUCK.”

“Raven, I realize you’re in a lot of pain, but it’s actually a good sign,” Clarke says, trying to appease Raven as she carefully flexes the girl’s leg at the knee.

“Give me a fucking break,” Raven growls, sweat beading on her forehead and breathing hard from the exertion. “My back is on fire and it feels like my hips are split in half. Jesus fucking Christ,” she hisses.

“That means the nerve damage wasn’t as severe as I’d expected.”

Clarke gently deposits the leg back on the small cot. She scrutinizes Raven’s feet, pushing her toes apart and pinching them. Her circulation seems to be flowing nicely and if the kick that nearly landed on her nose when she softly tickled the soles of Raven’s feet is any indication, so are her reflexes. “You’ll make a full recovery,” she declares proudly, allowing herself a fleeting moment of smugness over a job well done. She did extract a bullet from her back using only her fingers and needle-nose pliers, stitched her up with the same wires Jasper used to power the ring of fire after all. No one can say Clarke Griffin can’t adjust to less than ideal conditions.

Her eyes fall on the cup sitting lonely on the crate pushed next to Raven’s cot, and she juts her jaw in that direction. “You didn’t finish that,” she scolds.

Raven rolls her eyes. “It tastes like piss.”

“And you think that’s a valid argument because…?”

“I drank all the seaweed tea,” Raven says defensively.

“But this will ease the pain and help you rest,” Clarke picks up the cup. The liquid is lukewarm now which doubtfully will improve the flavor, but. It’s medicine. It doesn’t have to taste good. She hands it to Raven, her gaze unwavering. Raven meets her stare defiantly, her jaw set stubbornly and arms crossed over her chest. In her current position, bedridden and reclined against a small mountain of pillows, she is far from intimidating. “I won’t hesitate to pour this down your throat.”

Rushed heavy steps on the ramp herald Miller’s arrival before she can make good on her promise.

“Clarke, Bellamy just radioed in,” he nods at Raven before turning to Clarke. “He asked for you.” He holds out the radio, expecting her to take it.

She eyes it uneasily. She’s not prepared to talk to Bellamy yet. What is she even supposed to say to him after last night? “I’m really busy with Raven right now.”

Miller blinks. Behind him, Raven’s eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly reach her hairline. “We don’t know when the radio will fall out of reach. You may not get a chance to talk to him later,” Miller says, choosing his words carefully.

“Like I said, now’s not a good time.”

“But Bellamy –”

Clarke fixes him with a level stare, a small flicker of amusement busting through her as Miller squirms under her eyes. He looks like he wants to argue, opening and closing his mouth several times until he finally nods, resigned.

The radio suddenly hums with static. _“Miller. You copy?”_

Clarke’s stomach drops and she groans inwardly as Bellamy’s gruff voice fills the air. Miller almost jumps right out of his boots and he looks at her with wide, panicked eyes. He once again holds out the radio for her silently begging her to take it.

_ “Where’s Clarke?” _

She shakes her head vigorously, her heartbeat rising exponentially and ringing loud in her ears. Miller vibrates with anxiety. “Please just take it,” he pleads.

“No,” she irrationally whisper-shouts, as if Bellamy could hear them.

_ “Miller.” _

It comes out as a command, one that begs to be followed and Clarke groans, this time loudly enough that Raven chuckles.

Miller, decidedly more concerned about facing the wrath of someone miles away rather than Clarke’s when she is standing right there, lifts the radio closer to his mouth and pushes the com button on the side. “She’s right here,” he says, the traitor, and slaps the radio on her hand.

She glares at him, making a mental note of hurting him sometime in the future. “I’ll be right back,” her voice is deceitfully calm. She leaves the cup on the crate with a stiff “Drink that” directed to Raven that brooks no argument.

“That was… interesting,” Raven pick up the cup and takes a tentative sip, gagging when the foul taste explodes on her mouth.

Miller cocks his head to the side, studying her. “It helps if you cover your nose,” at her quizzing look, he demonstrates by pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Like this,” he says, nasally. “You can’t taste a thing if you drink it like that. Quickly,” he adds.

She purses her lips, considering his suggestion. “Okay,” she accepts grudgingly. “But if I throw up you clean it up.”

Outside, Clarke finds a relatively intimate spot behind the drop ship.

_ “Clarke, do you copy?” _

She rolls her eyes and the impatience and irritation laced in his voice. “I’m here. I’m extremely busy you know.”

_ “Don’t doubt it. How’s everything?” _

“Bellamy you’ve been gone for less than two hours. That’s not enough time to get everyone out of bed, much less in trouble.”

_“Right.”_ A short silence followed by static. _“We’re at Lincoln’s cave.”_

She nods. They were counting on Lincoln providing more information about the Mountain Men and she knows Bellamy was going crazy not knowing Octavia’s condition. Her injury wasn’t serious from what he told her but the risk of infection is always present, and Bellamy’s never exactly tried to hide the fact that he’s protective of his little sister to the point of exhaustion. It’s one of his finer attributes, in Clarke’s opinion.

_ “It’s empty. They’re gone.” _

Clarke reels back, gaping at the radio, and slumps her back against the side of the drop ship for support. “What?”

_“Octavia left a message,”_ Bellamy says. _“They went to find the tribe across the sea.”_

“Why?”

_ “I don’t know. Fuck.” _

The soft curse pierces through her and her gut twists in her belly. Octavia is the most important thing in Bellamy’s world. Losing her this way would bring him unimaginable pain.

_“I thought he’d patch her up and then she’d come back. She left,”_ He says, voice laced with pained incredulity. Clarke slides down until she’s sitting on the ground with her knees bent before her. She ignores the uncomfortable position, her stomach tying up in knots and her eyes welling with frustrated tears she refuses to shed. _“She’s gone.”_

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out. “But…” she swallows, putting her thoughts in order. “Are you sure she left willingly?”

Silence follows, extended long enough that she fears he either didn’t hear her or doesn’t want to talk anymore. _“It’s her handwriting, I’d recognize it anywhere.”_ Bellamy snorts, forlorn. _“I taught her how to write, damn it.”_

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Okay,” Clarke jumps to her feet, renewed with a sense of purpose. “What do you want to do? Are you going after her? I can pull Ronan from the foraging party and send him to you. He’s a decent tracker and you’re going to need him to find Octavia. I’ll join Jasper and the others for the recon and Miller and Raven can hold everything together here for a few days.”

_ “No.” _

“Then I’ll go with you. You shouldn’t go alone.”

_“I’m not going.”_ The line clicks dead for a second and comes back up on his end before Clarke has a chance to try to say anything. _“I’m going to Mount Weather and find what the fuck is going on there, and I’m bringing Monty and Finn back. Then I’ll go after O.”_

“By then you could be too late. Are you really going to just let her go?”

_ “She’s made her choice, and I have a responsibility to Monty and Finn and all of you.” _

“But she’s your sister. We understand.”

_ “She doesn’t want to be here. She wants to be with her grounder, she can have him. For now.” _

Clarke sighs. She admires his commitment, he really has come a long way from ‘whatever the hell we want’, but she’s not fooled by his callous nonchalance. Bellamy has to be really, really hurt to not want to go after Octavia and bring her to camp pulling her by her ear. She can’t imagine what it feels to be left behind by the one person who’s been your priority your whole life.

_ “I told Miller to get someone out here when you can spare them. Most of the stuff here we can use.” _

“Alright,” she concedes easily. They took clothing from corpses; she’s not above ransacking someone’s abandoned home.

_“There’s even an ancient medkit for you with some scalpels and shit._ ”

She smiles. His attempt to change the subject wasn’t even the least bit subtle. “That sounds great. We’re gonna start rebuilding the rest of the tents now. Any special request for yours?”

He chuckles. _“A sturdier bed maybe? We’re gonna need it.”_

Clarke blushes on the spot, her body temperature rising as flashbacks of the night before assault her senses. “That’s a hell of an assumption you’re making.”

_ “It’s a promise, actually.” _

She bites her lip, her heartbeat speeding and need pulsing in a place she’s prepared to die before admitting is still quite sore from last night.

_ “Alright, we’re gonna move now. I’ll check back in later. Keep the radio at hand.” _

“Bellamy,” the word is out of her lips before she can stop it. “When you get back, we need to talk about that.”

_ “Yeah. We do.” _

And that was that.

* * *

“This is definitely it,” Jasper says, hand clenching and unclenching on the knife strapped to his hip, staring intently to the shore across the river. “That’s where I got speared.”

“You used this?” Duncan inquiries, pulling his weight on the vine and frowning up to see if it holds.

“It should be safe to cross now right?” Harper pipes up, her shifting eyes belying her optimistic  tone. “All the Grounders are dead.”

Bellamy cocks his head to the side, estimating the depth of the water and the distance between where they’re standing and the bend in the river up northeast. “If it was even Grounders that speared him.”

Three pairs of eyes snap to him, alarmed. “That’s a comforting thought,” Japer says under his breath.

“We’re going that way,” he nods to the bend in the river. “Let’s stay behind the tree line just to be safe.”

It’s a three mile trek before they reach the bend and by then the sun is dangerously low on the horizon. Bellamy gives the order to stop and make camp. Harper wanders off and comes back remarkably fast with two dead rabbits for dinner while Duncan labors over building a fire.

Bellamy takes the first watch after dinner, settling over a fallen log a few feet off the campsite where the other three sleep around the smoking remains of the fire, eyes and ears alert. Luckily it’s a full moon, and this part of the woods glows in the dark due to a century of radiation so he has plenty of light.

He battles a long while with himself, but he end he gives in and clicks on the radio. “Clarke you copy?”

His stomach ties up in knots, half expecting that the radio is out of reach and half dreading that it isn’t and she’ll actually answer.

(Fuck. What is he going to say if she does answer?)

Static precedes her faint voice. _“Bellamy? Is everything okay?”_

“Yeah,” he bites out, silently groaning. He should’ve left well enough alone. “Just checking if we’re still within frequency,” he lies, convincingly.

The silence stretches for a long moment from her side and Bellamy grows antsy. _“Okay,”_ static. _“You are coming through a little thin though.”_

Yeah, her voice sounds low and distant to him too. It’s a miracle the radios work through such a distance. Raven is a genius.

“You were sleeping?”

_“Yeah,”_ she says, groaning slightly. The soft groan takes him back to last night and his dick stirs, remembering the sounds she made when she came, how her skin tasted, how she felt snug and wet around him. _“How are you doing? Did you cross the river?”_

He shakes his head before he remembers she can’t actually see him. “Nah,” he buries the tip of his machete on the dirt before him, drawing randomly. “We did reach the bend though. Marked it on your map and all. Tomorrow we set out at first light, hopefully we’ll find a way to cross that doesn’t expose us too much. You?”

_“Not much to report. Miller misses you,”_ Bellamy detects a hint of humor in her voice. He bets she’s smiling too. The thought makes him happy for some reason. _“He’s building you a rustic cabin.”_

“Is he,” he says flatly.

This time he does hear her laugh and he can’t help the smile tugging at his lips. _“Well, it’s for everyone actually. For winter. He drew blueprints and everything. Of course then it started raining and he glared at the ground for a solid minute where his precise draft turned into a puddle of mud.”_

“Did he cry?”

_ “No in my presence. I had to sacrifice a piece of paper from my notebook to make him feel better though.” _

Bellamy laughs, looks over his shoulder when he hears a rustling of clothes and sees Jasper mumbling lowly in his sleep and rolling on his side.

“So about that conversation we need to have.”

_“Not now,”_ Clarke says firmly, but her voice maintains some of the playful tone.

“Are you in your tent?” the image of Clarke spread on a bed of furs, naked and with her hair fanned around her nearly made him groan. He stretches his leg before him, adjusts his hard-on in his pants to a more comfortable position.

_ “No. I didn’t build mine. Raven’s still delicate so I’m staying with her on the drop ship.” _

“Don’t drag your ass. One of us needs a tent by the time I get back for our ‘conversation’. I’m not holding my breath for that rustic cabin.”

He can practically see her roll her eyes. _“Have I told you lately how much of an ass you are sometimes?”_

“You remind me daily, princess.”

_ “Goodnight Bellamy.” _

“Night. I’ll try to radio in tomorrow.”

He stands up, shoves the radio in his pocket. He’s going to have to walk the perimeter half a dozen times to get rid of his erection.

* * *

They set out in the morning after a hurried breakfast of leftover rabbit from the other night and some berries Jasper found. They have to leave the tree line behind and stick close to the river as the terrain progressively gains altitude and it’s either that and risk being seen or climbing up the sharp ridge and possibly losing their footing and breaking their necks. About a mile ahead the river veers to the left ending on a small waterfall and they have to descend the eight feet drop on wet slippery rocks. Just a few yards ahead they reach a section where big rocks zigzag across the river, allowing them to jump from one to the other and reach the other side with little to no difficulty.

The placement of those rocks is too neat and too convenient to be done by nature’s hand, and the knowledge tickles uncomfortably in the back of Bellamy’s mind. The location is also strategic, hiding the crossing between the riverbanks from the south.

“Look,” Jasper calls, picks up something from between two large mossy rocks.

Bellamy closes the distance frowning at the long chain and the metal bird dangling from Jasper’s fingers.

“That’s Raven’s,” Harper says. “How did it end up here?”

“She gave it back to Finn when they broke up,” Jasper explains helpfully. His eyes find Bellamy’s. “He was here.”

It certainly indicated that. But did he just drop it, or is it supposed to signal something important?

The unmistakable sound of metal against metal and jarring hinges spurs Bellamy into action. Careful not to make a sound and remain calm in the panic evident in his friends’ faces, he signals with a short flick of his hand to take cover. They duck behind the mammoth rocks and squeeze together to make sure they aren’t seen.

A door hidden in the thick foliage on the steep ridge of the mountain opens and then slams closed in quick succession. Bellamy can’t believe his eyes.

Judging by the height and build, it’s a man but not an inch of his skin is visible. He’s covered entirely by a hazmat suit. He’s not armed as far as Bellamy can see, but he is carrying a large toolbox and a step ladder.

With bated breath, they watch as the man steps on the ladder and deposits the toolbox on the top rung. His gloved fingers bat away some of the foliage over the threshold of the hidden door and a lens with an intermittent red light and then the rest of the camera becomes visible.

Bellamy stifles a curse. Earth just became a hell of a lot more dangerous.

The man starts taking apart the camera and doing something to it with a screwdriver. Seeing him distracted, and presumably with the security camera out of order, Bellamy makes a split second decision and abandons his hiding place.

He creeps behind the man and when he’s close enough he fists the rubbery fabric of the suit at his back and pulls hard making him plummet to the ground. The man gropes for purchase on the rung and so takes the ladder down with him. The toolbox crashes on the ground next to the man’s head with a clang and countless of tools splattering around. Bellamy grabs a heavy claw hammer, rips the mask off the man and slaps his hand on the man’s mouth before he can make a sound. He presses the handle horizontally against his throat, takes his hand away from the man’s mouth and holding the hammer on both ends, leaning over it with his weight.

Wide, panicked eyes stare up at him.

“You and I are gonna talk,” Bellamy says. “And by ‘talk’ I mean I’m gonna ask some questions and you get to breathe when I fucking say so. Got it?”

The man attempts to struggle but Bellamy presses harder on his windpipe. He nods and Bellamy eases up a bit before he loses consciousness.

“Who are you?”

“U.S of A. government,” the man wheezes. “What’s left of it.”

“You’re the Mountain Men?”

He snorts derisively. “That’s what the outsiders call us. We’re government officials.” 

Bellamy presses on with his interrogation. “How long have you been in Mount Weather?”

“Fuck you.”

“Wrong answer.”

Bellamy pushes down on the handle. The man’s hands claw at it, struggling, growing sluggish as oxygen fails to fill his lungs. His mouth opens and closes in a desperate plea for air. Bellamy eases back again, eyebrows arched and waiting.

“Since the bombs went off,” he coughs.

“How many of you are there? And if you don’t give me a number I’m gonna shove this up your ass claw first.”

 

The terrified look on his face is very satisfying. “Three hundred and eighty two. I swear. Please don’t hurt me.”

Bellamy scowled. That number doesn’t make sense to him. Up in the ark their population grew exponentially the first two generations until resources started running low and all the population control laws were implemented, but even then their numbers were over two thousand. “You’ve been down there for almost a hundred years.”

“There weren’t that many women to begin with. We’re practically all related. Please.”

Bellamy shudders, guessing the fate of those few women was a bleak one. He leans over again, his eyes studying every minuscule expression on the man’s face that could indicate he was lying.

“Two of my friends were taken. One five nights ago, the other four, fifteen miles southeast from here. Were you responsible for that?”

The man visibly hesitates, tries to swallow. The handle of the hammer digs into the flesh of his throat keeping his Adam’s apple from bobbing up and down.

“Yeah,” he wheezes.

Bellamy eases some of his weight. “Are they alive?” The man nods. Bellamy would collapse, relieved, if he wasn’t otherwise occupied. “Why were they taken?”

“It’s standard procedure when new hostiles come to this region, to assess the threat level.”

“What are they doing to them?”

“Fuck if I know,” the man pants. Bellamy glowers down at him and presses down with the handle. His captive rushes to answer. “They’re quarantined! That’s all I know I swear! Do I look like I’m in on the big stuff? I’m the tech guy for fuck’s sake.”

“You said it was standard procedure. This happened before, with others?” At the man’s nod, Bellamy narrows his eyes. “What happened to them?”

The man blanches, all color seeping from his face. “I – I – ”

“How long do they have?”

The man tries to breathe around the unmoving weight of the handle. “A few weeks. Month, tops.”

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Bellamy drops the hammer, wraps one arm around the man’s neck and applies enough pressure on the side of his head with his other hand until a sharp snap indicates the neck is broken.

He killed a man in less than five seconds. He’ll feel bad about it later, probably. Maybe. Now they need to run.

Jasper jogs to him. “What did he say? Are they in there?”

“Yeah. They’re alive,” Bellamy carefully repositions the gas mask over the man’s face. The dent of the hammer in isn’t noticeable.

He stands up and looks at the scene before him with a critical eye. He adjusts the ladder making it rest fully over the dead man’s body.

“What are you doing?” Duncan asks.

“Making it look like he lost his balance, fell and broke his neck,” he explains calmly. A quick survey of the camera tells him it’s still disabled. He’s counting on the feed being cut. Otherwise someone would’ve already come out shortly after he attacked the Mountain Man. “They can’t know we were here.”

“They’re gonna figure it out when we break in to find Monty and Finn.”

“We’re not. We’re leaving.”

“What? No,” Jasper shakes his head. “Our friends are in there, they need our help. We can’t just leave them.”

“We’re not gonna be much help if they capture us the moment we breach those doors,” he snaps. “There’re four of us and we’re armed with knives. They have technology so I’m guessing they have guns too.”

“We don’t abandon our own, remember?” Jasper says heatedly, his hand fisting Bellamy’s jacket at his shoulder. The wild, pained look in the boy’s face twists Bellamy’s gut.

“We’ll come back. With a plan.” He grips Jasper’s forearm, not trying to pull him away but comfortingly. “We’re no good to them dead.”

Jasper finally sighs and nods, ducking his face to hide the tears threatening to fall. Bellamy doesn’t think any less of him for them. He knows he and Monty are as close as brothers and he’s asking him to leave him behind.

Bellamy silently vows to get them out and sends a prayer to Finn and Monty to hold on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please leave a comment! I love hearing from you and I've missed you XD


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a lying liar who lies because I promised you I'd post this chapter shortly after the previous one and I didn't. I'm sorry. It was written. It was right there, ready to be posted. But I hated it. I kept going back and changing things and ultimately I rewrote the whole thing and ended up with something completely different but that I'm actually happy with. Also, I think you'll be happy to hear the days of inconsistent updates are behind us! Hooray! I have the next chapter completed, the one after that half-written and the next four planned out with specific scenes, but more importantly, having averted a family crisis now I actually have time to write so things should settle for us. So you get this chapter today and the next one before the premiere next week and if everything works out as planned I'll be able to give you weekly updates like you deserve.
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking to this story and my inconsistent updates, the response to this fic has literally blown my mind away. I hope I don't fail you :D

Once he prided himself on his endurance. Physical training had been brutal but necessary during his cadet days. They kept a scoreboard on the training room and their instructors encouraged competitiveness between the cadets, keeping a public score of their accomplishments and shortcomings so that everyone who ventured into the area reserved for the Guard could see it. So their superiors could track their progress. So the cadets would push themselves to point of exhaustion and excel over everyone else, show them they deserved to be there, that they were the best, that rumors about _how_ their mother had secured them a spot on the program aside, it was their place and they’d beat to the dust everyone who dared say otherwise to their face.

Or maybe that was just Bellamy.

He made it a point of always running a few extra miles on the treadmill than the other cadets, kicking the speed up a notch, doing more pushups, hitting the mats on his downtime, sparring with anyone who’d go for it, watching the more experienced guards spar between them and carefully analyzing their moves, committing them to memory.

He put in all the requisite training hours, and as many more as he could, as many as his weary body would let him, for as long as he didn’t feel guilty of not spending time with Octavia.

But none of it, not one second of his extensive training, prepared him for this.

And admittedly, when they dropped to the ground he was naturally out of shape after one year of janitorial duty, but he’s pretty sure that not even the most rigorous workout regime he could’ve practiced on the Ark would’ve prepared him for the reality of life on Earth.

More to the point, _running_ for his life on Earth.

They don’t stop. At all. From the moment he instructed Duncan to stay behind, find a covered spot on high ground where he could keep an eye on the comings and goings of the Mountain Men and lay low until they send out another group to join him, they were off running, Jasper, Harper and him and they never stop.

Not for rest. Not for food. Hours upon hours and eating miles of unforgiving terrain, they keep going. The burn of wearied muscles, cramping and screaming for respite slides to the back of his mind. Raw lungs protest with every breath as they continue with their punishing pace.

All that matters is running, and veering to the left to avoid that cluster of dense trees, and leaping over that fallen log, and stay clear off the poison ivy Clarke says can bench you for days, and climb up the ravine, use the roots, and most importantly, don’t ever slow down.

Fear is an excellent motivator. Trepidation chases them through the forest – did the Mountain Men find the body? Did they buy the accidental death setup or suspect something? Did they find Duncan? Are they being chased right now? Are they leading them to camp, to the others?

They power through even when the sun disappears in the horizon and they have to navigate through the woods under the moonlight. Hunger gnaws at their bellies and thirst turns their mouths to sawdust, but getting back to the camp safely and quickly is more important. They don’t have time to hunt and there’s only a limited amount of berries and roots they can pick without slowing their gruesome pace.

After a while his mind detaches itself from his body, wandering. He allows his instincts to take over his body and it’s a wonderful, terrible, liberating feeling. While he sprints and leaps and beats low reaching branches off with his hatchet, his mind travels to Octavia and the hastily written note weighting him down like lead secured in his pocket, words like ‘goodbye’ and ‘love’ and ‘maybe’ dancing before them among the blur of vegetation, mocking him.

It wanders to the man he killed and the pieces of the Ark that pierced the night sky, and the preternatural instincts his rational mind never cared much for but that have more than once saved his ass on the ground, telling him things are going to change soon and not necessarily for the best.

His thoughts drift to smooth expanses of fair skin, wisps of golden hair tickling his nose, his tired mind looking for a reprieve. Miles and miles of legs infinitely smooth become tangible. He can taste her sweat with every gulp, her scent fills his head with every breath. He hears her moans over the pounding of his boots on the mud and her eyes guide him through the woods like a beacon.

It’s almost enough to convince himself he’s right there with her, that he can touch her if he wills his hands to cover the distance between them, and for a while he guesses he is and can’t for the life of him remember the last leg of their journey.

And then it’s worth it, every gruesome mile they run and every drop of sweat, everything, every bit of it, when the gate appears before them and the lookouts give the order to open up for them.

A piece of space garbage and a collection of tents made of odds and ends have no business feeling like home. And yet the land beneath his boots, soiled by blood and fire, welcomes him and when the gate rolls behind them the tall walls tower over him comfortingly and for the first time in two days, he can breathe.

A very sleepy Miller greets them before they have a chance to catch their breath. The rumpled state of his clothes, the injected eyes and the distinctive absence of his beanie are all clear indicators that he basically rolled out of bed and dragged his ass to meet him. Bellamy glances around them and notices the flaming torches, the night patrol perched on the watcher towers and the low hanging moon on the sky. He hadn’t even realized how late it was until he could take a moment to look around him.

He smirks, the tug on his lips coming easily even through the exhaustion.

“I heard you missed me. Where’s my cabin?”

“Bite me,” Miller rolls his eyes. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

“Change of plans, I’ll fill you in in the morning.”

Miller takes a cursory glance around them, sees Jasper collapsed on an overturned crate and Harper tugging off her boots and groaning. “Duncan’s not here,” he says, narrowing his eyes as he considers Bellamy.

“He’s doing recon on site,” Bellamy sees his friend’s eyes widen a touch. “Monty and Finn are alive, but rescuing them is gonna take some planning. It can wait till _tomorrow_ ,” he rubs a hand down his face, his eyelids feeling like sandpaper. Now that he’s been still for a moment he’s acutely aware of the rivers of sweat running down his forehead and neck, his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin under his jacket and a persistent ache on lower back, all on top of the general overtired pulsing of every one of his muscles. “Go to sleep,” he says to his friend, looks at him up and down and sneers, fondly. “You look like hell.”

Miller gives him an unimpressed stare. “Dude. Pot, kettle and all that shit,” Bellamy punches his shoulder and takes the jug of water one of the guys on patrol duty hands him. “Your tent is that way.”

He gulps down the cool liquid, drinking greedily then wipes his sleeve across his mouth. “Clarke?”

“She’s in the drop ship.”

He frowns. “With Raven?”

“Yeah.”

Bellamy sighs, a low curse escaping his lips without his permission. Miller quirks an eyebrow, taking notice.

“Okay,” he claps Miller on the shoulder and steps in the direction of the drop ship. Suddenly he stops, feeling the other guy’s gaze on his back. He turns around and sure enough, Miller is looking at him with a knowing smirk and arched eyebrow. “ _What._ ”

“Nothin’.”

Bellamy studies his friend and second-in-command carefully. Kid’s too smart for his own good. He sighs. “I don’t need to tell you to keep your mouth shut.”

Miller grins. “You’ll want to get cleaned first, you kinda stink.”

“Hmm.”

“Or just stay downwind from her and hope for the best.”

“Funny,” Bellamy says flatly.

“Just sayin’.” He shrugs one shoulder. “We’re all roughing it up down here so she might not mind the stench.  I mean she tolerates you just fine her standards are probably really low.”

A smile tugs up the corners of Bellamy’s lips just slightly, grudgingly. If it was anyone else he would’ve made them swallow their words and knocked off all their teeth, but him and Miller have been through too much together and had reached the sort of camaraderie where they could insult one another without taking offence. It’s welcome actually, after the last couple of shitty days, and Bellamy feels a bit of the tension and weariness easing off of him.

“I’ll send water and food to your tent,” Miller offers, waving one of the guys on patrol.

Bellamy shakes his head, turns his back on the drop ship. “I’m gonna take a swim.”

He crosses the sleepy camp quietly and ventures into the woods out the southeast gate. He knows the path by heart, having made the trek many times before to bathe. Most of the others prefer the beach half a mile downstream since it’s technically closer to the camp, the water is mostly shallow and the river bed was covered in smooth pebbles, but Bellamy discovered another spot and didn’t mind making the longer journey to get there. It was quiet and private and reminded him that there was still beauty in Earth.

The small oasis opens before him, plush grass and mossy boulders abound the place. The stream is far more narrow here, but runs deeper than the beach the others frequent.

He pulls at the straps holding his weapons, leaving them by the water’s edge. He tears off the rest of his clothes, belatedly realizing he has nothing else to change to after his bath.

The water laps gently around his waist when a sound behind him makes his whole body tense in alarm.

“Didn’t you forget something?”

She appears to him like a vision, fair and glowing in the moonlight among the foliage, a bundle of clothes under her arm.

“What would I do without you princess?” Bellamy smirks, idly wondering if she was waiting behind the heavy foliage the whole time, bidding her time to come out only when his naked form was safely covered by the water.

Clarke doesn’t say anything, just gingerly takes a seat on a boulder. Bellamy bends his knees and pushes away of the shallow shore, dipping his head underwater and expertly using his legs and arms to lap around the water. The coolness feels glorious, his tired muscles relaxing and all the aches of running soothing somewhat.

“So I intercepted Miller,” Clarke says, her eyes easily following his form. “He told me Duncan stayed behind and that rescuing Finn and Monty is going to be somewhat difficult?”

He nods. “The Mountain Men have them, and they have technology.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“So what are we going to do? We can’t exactly barge in there and wing it. We need a plan.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking we send Monroe, Dylan and Erys up there and gather intel with Duncan, then regroup and make a plan.”

“Monroe and Erys don’t get along,” she reminds him, biting the inside of her cheek.

“But they’re our fastest tree-climbers and we need the advantage. They’ll get over it,” Bellamy assures her.

“Jasper’s gonna want to go too,” Clarke says. “I need him here.”

“We’ll say no if he asks.”

“Great, that’s settled then,” Clarke states, fingers taping over her knees. “We need to talk about what happened between us.”

“Or we could just fuck now, sleep and then tomorrow when I feel like a human again we can talk all you want, preferably over moonshine and then have drunk sex,” Bellamy says with a straight face, rubbing water on the back of his neck and shivering pleasurably as he feels the grime and dirt being washed away. Clarke tilts her head to the side and shoots him a quick, vivid glare. “Your way works too. Whatever.”

She snorts a laugh, shaking her head.

“Come on. It’s going to happen again and you know it.”

A teasing smirk plays on her lips. “You presume a lot.”

“I’m not presuming anything. You and I? We were explosive, we’d be idiots not to go for a repeat.”

“Just because it was good doesn’t mean it’s a good idea,” Clarke points out.

“Actually it does,” he insists, reeling a bit at her calling sex between them just ‘good’. He’ll make her swallow more than her words if he gets a chance. “Look, did you have fun? Did you come? Didn’t you feel fucking fantastic the morning after?”

Clarke bites her lip, silently agreeing.

“So did I,” Bellamy confesses. “So what’s the harm? We aren’t hurting anyone, we sure as hell aren’t betraying anybody. We can make each other feel good. I know what you need to get off and I can give it to you, and trust me, it goes both ways.”

“Aren’t you afraid it’s going to make our job harder” she asks, hands fisting at her knees. “What if things get – complicated – between us?”

Bellamy shrugs. “We worked just fine when we didn’t like each other I don’t think it can get much more complicated than that.”

“Be serious.”

“I am.”

“Okay,” she says after a pause too long. Bellamy fights back the urge to fist bump the air. Barely. “But if we’re going to do this,” she says signaling to the wide space between them with a flick of her hand. “Then we need rules.”

Bellamy nods, silently accepting her words and waiting for her to continue.

“First of all,” Clarke takes a deep breath, holding his gaze. She is a speck of light in the dark night, her fair skin and hair practically glowing under the moonlight. “No one can know.”

Apparently something in his face or his eyes shows he’s not exactly happy with her first rule, even though Bellamy’s positive he didn’t so much as _blink_ , because immediately she’s holding her hands out in a placating fashion and taking a step closer to the edge of the water, getting the tips of her boots wet. Bellamy smiles inwardly. He’s down for anything that’ll bring her closer to him to be honest.

“I just mean that with everyone counting on us and looking to us to lead, we can’t chance our position as leaders being questioned or compromised in any way by anyone, and if people were to know that we’re sleeping together it could create unnecessary doubts or people could even use it against us.”

“Fucking on the regular isn’t going to make us any less competent and if anyone questions that then we can make an example out of them,” Bellamy argues without much heat. He can see her point and agrees with her to an extent, but the idea of sneaking around behind everyone’s backs sounds unnecessarily exhausting.

Clarke gives him a look that clearly says she doesn’t appreciate his callous language. “And do what? String them up on a tree?”

Bellamy bites back a growl. He regrets much of his treatment of Atom and she fucking knows it. “If necessary.”

She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. “It’s not just the camp we need to worry about,” she points out. “You saw the Ark the night the grounders attacked us. There could be survivors and they could be on their way to us as we speak, and it’s going to be difficult enough fighting off Jaha and the Council for power as it is. We can’t give them any ammo to use against us and a relationship between us, whatever the nature, is just that.”

“When did we decide that we’re gonna hold our leadership position if the Arkers come?”

It wasn’t the original plan, they talked about it when they decided to bring the guns to camp, on the long walk back from the supply depot. Clarke had been adamant that when the grownups arrived they would hand over the guns and the power to them, and Bellamy had agreed but secretly hoped she’d change her mind since he had deep rooted reservations about the competency of the Chancellor and the Council given that life on the Ark had basically sucked for anyone who wasn’t privileged and he was damned if he’d let them continue on as they were. Earth gave them freedom, he wasn’t going to let that go without a fight.

Clarke gives him a rueful smile, and her eyes drop momentarily to the hard planes of his bare chest, widening slightly. “Like there was ever a chance we wouldn’t,” she admits.

Bellamy smirks, pushes back with his feet digging on the sand and wades in the cool water. “Okay. What else you got?”

“No feelings.”

He loses his balance and ends up accidentally swallowing a mouthful of water. He coughs it out and okay his throat is still a little sore from being hanged and everything so this is so not helping.

“I mean obviously there are feelings,” Clarke carries on, apparently not concerned that he nearly fucking drowned, absentmindedly nibbling on her thumbnail. “Aside from the fact that we are sexually attracted to one another, we are friends, sort of.”

She means it as a statement but the little lines knitting on her brow and the questioning look in her eyes seeks confirmation from him. “Yeah.”

“And we trust each other.”

This time he doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t really have to. They fucking already exhausted the matter of trust between them in his opinion. He trusts her more than he trusts himself and if that doesn’t make him run for the hills he doesn’t know what will.

“But I tried the whole romance thing before and it’s not worth the heartache,” she says it really fast, like the quicker the words are out of her mouth the sooner they’ll vanish in the night instead of hanging in the air between them.

He remains impassive, waiting.

“Not that you could break my heart, I don’t care about you like that. I mean,” she sputters, a frustrated blush coloring her cheeks in the pale light.

“You’re rambling,” Bellamy offers mildly, not helping at all.

“Well forgive me if this is the most bizarre conversation I’ve ever had,” Clarke snaps, crossing her arms and gifting him with the mouthwatering sight of her generous breasts pushed up. “You being naked and wet isn’t exactly helping either.”

“You’re the one who wanted to talk,” he reminds her, impassive. “I wanted to get right down to fucking.”

Clarke lets out a long suffering sigh, tilts her head back with her eyes firmly shut. Bellamy idly wonders if she’s counting to ten and back.

“No feelings,” she repeats tersely. “Just sex. Agreed?”

“You drive a hard bargain Clarke,” he shakes his head, voice dripping with sarcasm. “How ever will I keep myself from falling for you.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke says warningly, but the glint in her azure eyes tells him she’s fighting back a smile.

“No seriously,” he walks closer to her against the current of the stream until water laps around his hips beneath his navel. He clutches his chest right over his heart and gives her an over the top imitation of Spacewalker’s patented dopey look, batting lashes and all. “You’re in my heart already.”

“Shut up,” she snorts with laughter, the sound incredibly ridiculous and a little embarrassing he knows but it gives him a weird sort of pride to know he’s responsible for making her laugh so unreservedly.

“Are we done with the rules yet?” he asks gravely, licking his lips in anticipation and feeling his cock stir beneath the water. Who would’ve thought he’d be turned on by the sight of a smiling Clarke?

She dries the tears from the corner of her eyes, her smile slowly fading. “Actually just one more,” she worries her lip. “I don’t share.”

“Meaning?”

“I expect us to be exclusive. I know you like variety but…”

He waits to see if she has anything else to add but with a little shrug she indicates that’s all she has to say on the matter.

Bellamy sighs, barely repressing the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah sleeping around was fun for all of two seconds before I had real shit to deal with you know, like running a fucking camp and not getting ganked by grounders,” he says flatly. “I know things were wild for a while there when we first landed…” he sees Clarke’s eyebrows gradually raise inch by inch and he knows they’re both thinking about the time she walked in on him post ménage à trois. He rubs a wet hand down his face.  “But lately I haven’t – I want everyone to respect me as a leader okay, and I can’t do that if I’m getting my dick wet with everyone that offers. So.”

“Okay but just so we’re clear if you ever use that phrase in reference to me I will cut it off and wear it around my neck.”

“Noted,” Bellamy accepted easily. “You should know that I slept with Raven though.”

She breathes sharply, the tight line of her lips and the minute square of her jaw indicating that is still a soft spot after what went on with Finn and Raven. He waits a moment but when she remains speechless, Bellamy continues talking with a small shrug. “It was one time. She was using me to get back at Finn and I didn’t mind.”

“Do you have feelings for her?” Clarke asks, her voice smaller than he knows she wishes it was.

“I don’t want her to die or anything,” he says mildly, attempting a severe frown but feeling the corners of his lips twitch up.

She totally saw that. Fuck. “How gallant of you,” Clarke returns his smile.

A thought crosses his mind and this time his brow knits easily and Bellamy fairly glowers at her. “Are _you_ gonna use me to get back at Finn?”

She visibly shuts down. “I thought we were going to use each other.”

“Well yeah, but if you’re gonna be thinking about Spacewalker while I fuck you we’re gonna have problems,” he warns her, darkly.

“Trust me, if last time is any indication Finn is going to be the last thing on my mind.”

It takes him a moment to process that one, but when it does all but a flicker of doubt fades away and his chest swells with well-deserved pride.

“Besides there’s nothing between Finn and me.” At Bellamy’s arched brow Clarke rolls her eyes and awkwardly shifts in her place. “There isn’t. Not anymore.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes,” she states, unwaveringly, and he almost believes her.

“Okay,” he studies her through narrowed eyes, looking for any sign that she’s lying to him but not finding any. Doesn’t mean she’s not lying to herself though… “So to recap: we keep things on the down low, don’t get emotionally attached and only fuck each other.”

Clarke gives him a short precise nod.

“Good.” Now onto the fun part…

The air around them changes, becomes charged with electricity almost as the words pass his lips. Clarke stands up, her back straight and proud. The tense line of her shoulders drops, relaxing and her arms fall to her sides, hands no longer wringing, fingers stalling in their absentminded picking at their cuticles.

Watching her so easily fall into place sends his heartbeat to a crazy rhythm. This whole thing started because he recognized her need to give up control and desired to show her just how much pleasure and joy she can find by submitting to him. Her submission is precious to him. She doesn’t give it freely and he knows it. It’s a give and take. She’s trusting him to give her what she needs and he has to honor that trust every second.

“You have your safe word,” he inquires with a steady look.

“Red.”

“Do you want to change it? Maybe another word, something you can remember easily but that you wouldn’t say in a heated moment.”

She shakes her head.

“And you know when to use it?”

“If I’m in pain or uncomfortable or just want to stop.”

He nods. “One day when we start talking hard and soft limits we’re gonna introduce a second safe word. Red will still mean full stop, but the other one will mean we slow down and talk a bit. You don’t need to worry about that yet, red works both ways for now,” he gives her that tidbit of information, in the interest of full disclosure and also to gauge her reaction. She doesn’t appear afraid or excessively worried, what’s more, he can see the hint of interest clear in her eyes.

“Do you have anything else you want to say before we begin?”

She licks her lips, swallows nervously, and finally shakes her head.

“Take off your clothes and come here.”

Her fingers shake slightly but her hesitation only lasts a moment after she shrugs off her heavy jacket and fingers the hem of her shirt. She fancies herself silly, thinking she sees Bellamy’s eyes darken when in reality it’s the middle of the night, his eyes are already pretty goddamn dark to begin with and there’s almost five whole feet of distance between them so logically speaking, she can’t _really_ tell if they do. But regardless, the intensity of his look heightens and her skin warms under it.

Her shirt comes off next and butterflies come to life in Clarke’s stomach, nerves and excitement rolling together as one. She moves onto her boots, struggling with the laces.

“Want some help?” Bellamy offers, wincing internally as she tugs and pulls on her boots with much effort but little results.

“It’s fine, I’ve got it,” Clarke groans, slightly breaking in a sweat as she tries to balance on one foot and finally tugs off the boot off the other one.

A few more groans, a low vicious curse, Bellamy’s poorly masked chuckle and a relieved sigh later, she’s finally kicking off her panties and her bra that’s always been too small for her, presenting her naked form for Bellamy.

And neither one breathes for a solid minute.

Which is stupid, really, because he’s seen her before, and touched her, and _felt_ her like no one has. But there’s something in the way her skin prickles in the cool air and the sharp breath he takes and it’s like gravity ceased to exist and they float, weightless, towards each other.

The sight of his mark right there on the side of her left nipple stirs his blood. The bruise is purple and already fading on the edges but the contrast with her creamy skin is truly shocking. He can’t wait to see how sensitive to the touch that area is and wonders if she thought about him while he was gone every time her clothes brushed the bruised skin.

A pull beneath his navel hooks him and drags him across the water to her as Clarke’s feet cross the shore and her skin gradually disappears beneath the water the closer she comes to him.

“It’s almost… warm,” Clarke says, bewildered, cupping handfuls of the clear liquid and watching it slip through her fingers, her skin pleasantly tingling in the current of the stream. “The water is much colder down at the beach.”

Bellamy nods, wraps his fingers around hers and pulls her closer into the deep. The water laps gently at her nipples, making them stiff in contact with the cool air. “Think there might be a hot spring nearby. Haven’t found it yet. When I do,” he cups her elbows underwater, feels her fingers curl around his biceps and dig in, holding tight as a look of alarm flashes through her features when the water completely covers her breasts. “We can take the others there and have actual warm baths during the winter.”

“I think that’s deep enough for me,” Clarke squeaks, standing on her tiptoes on the sand. The water is nearly at the base of her throat, only reaching about the middle of Bellamy’s chest and she’s never been quite so aware of how much taller than her he actually is. “I can’t swim.”

“I’ll have to teach you sometime.”

Clarke clings to his neck. She commits the sight of tan skin, broad chest corded with thick bands of muscle and dusky flat nipples to memory, her eyes tracing the potent lines of him and fingers itching to touch them and put them to paper.

His hands reach for her waist, palms flat and molding to her curves. His mouth comes down on her as he pulls her closer, Clarke’s feet effectively leaving the firm soil and her grip on him becoming desperate, the aggressive kiss notching their passion higher.

“Wrap your legs around me,” Bellamy says, a whisper against her lips, fingers slipping into her hair and gathering it at the back of her neck.

Clarke hooks a leg on his hip and pushes up slightly to wrap the other one around him, moaning at the brush of his thick cock against her inner thigh. Her ankles lock at his back and her face levels with his changing the angle of the kiss. Her breasts flatten against his chest, the hard peaks tracing a burning pattern on Bellamy’s skin.

He guides her movements tightening his hand around her hair, tilting her head back and trailing openmouthed kisses down the exposed column of her neck. Clarke’s nails dig into his back sending jolts of pleasure straight to his cock. Bellamy uses his free hand to touch her everywhere he can reach, cupping the delectable globes of her ass, lightly rubbing the spot low on her back at the base of her spine, clamping his teeth at the base of her neck when she shivers. He explores the curve of her hips, the depth of her waist, finally cupping her breast almost reverently.

His thumb finds the spot on her breast where he left his mark. Bellamy cups the back of her head, guides her until their eyes meet, aching to see how she responds to his touch. He rubs the spot, gently rakes a nail over it, satisfied with how sensitive the area is as indicated by the little whine Clarke lets out, lids falling shut as her lips find him in a hungry kiss and her thighs tighten impossibly around him, hips wiggling, urging him on.

“Please Bellamy,” Clarke pleads, barely holding to the edge of her sanity.

He adjusts her body, moaning with her when his incredibly rigid cock presses against the seam of her pussy. Bellamy worried the water would wash away all of her wetness making the negative logistics of sex in the stream far outbalance the hotness factor, but he’s happy to find he was wrong. He rocks his hips, sliding his cock between her lips and bumping against her clit feeling slick warmth that is all Clarke.

Bellamy spreads his legs, widening his stance. He fists the base of his cock, firmly rubbing the broad head against her clit before pressing it to the entrance of her pussy. His hips rock against her and his eyes close. Her body resists taking him at first but Clarke presses down until the thick crown of his cock eases through as Bellamy’s grip on her hips slackens slightly, sliding down to the top of his thighs and forcing her own farther apart.

“Oh god,” Clarke burrows her face in the crook of his neck as he eases his cock inside her, feeling the exquisite pleasure of being filled.

Bellamy’s hands firmly plant on her ass, pushing her down to meet his thrusts. He rolls his hips, feeling her walls clench around him when his cock hits a spot inside her that makes her cry out into the silent night and almost coming right there.

“You feel so fucking good Clarke,” he growls, increasing the tempo of his thrusts. He lets go of her ass and wraps a hand around her hair, the drenched locks cascading down her back from his fist. He angles her head bearing the side of her neck to him and his lips attack the soft skin under her hear. “Wish I could fuck you deeper, sink my cock all the way inside you, but I can’t like this.”

He loses his rhythm, rubbing his pelvic bone hard on her clit as Clarke pants and digs her nails in his back, feeling the skin break underneath them. “ _Oh my god._ ”

“You’d like that huh? My cock deep in you your little cunt like the other night?” he taunts, pressing a punishing kiss on her parted lips.

“Please,” she moans, buckling her hips madly against his trying to get more friction.

“Please what?”

Her breathes come in short pants. “I – _oh_ – I want to – ”

“You wanna come? You’re gonna have to ask nicely,” Bellamy clucks his tongue, his balls tensing.

He snaps his hips rapidly, fucking her hard and fast.

“ _Ah_! Bell – Bellamy please, I going to – _please_ ,” she begs urgently.

“Touch your clit,” he orders, licking at the seam of her lips. “Touch yourself and come for me.”

Clarke obediently sneaks a hand between their bodies and he feels her whole body tense as her fingers make contact with the bundle of nerves, rubbing small, frantic circles over it. She sobs when she feels the beginning of her orgasm, the sound making a need like he’s never felt before fist at the base of Bellamy’s cock.

She throws back her head and cries out as pleasure tears through her. The brutal climax blinds her and spreads through her body like electricity. Her pussy clamps down hard on his driving cock and she seizes from the intensity of it.

She milks him for all he’s worth and Bellamy doesn’t try to hold anything back. He buries his cock as deep inside her as the position allows him, jerking his release. His knees buckle beneath him and the once gentle current of the stream now feels like it could carry him for miles. The knowledge on the back of his mind that Clarke can’t swim and that if he lets them be carried too far into the deep water she might be hurt is the only thing keeping his feet firmly planted in the sand.

Bellamy’s head falls forward, nuzzling her neck. Clarke’s arms shake around him but she doesn’t relinquish her hold.

It’s a while before the sounds of the forest penetrate their post coital bubble and they’re able to register anything other than the stubborn strength of their embrace and the harshness of their breathing, but soon after that they make their way back to the camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it too wordy? It was too wordy for me but what can I say these two insisted on talking before getting to the fun part and no one was more frustrated about that than me, promise. 
> 
> Please leave me a comment, I love to hear what you guys think, your reactions and your theories. You can follow me on tumblr too, I’m [bellohmyblake](http://bellohmyblake.tumblr.com/) and I’m basically there all the time so come say hi if you want.
> 
> Till next week!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I am keeping my promise! I was going to post it immediately after the premiere but to be perfectly honest I'm still screaming the episode was so so good but it also hurt soooo much ugh 
> 
> As always thank you all for the incredible support. I love hearing from you guys so much!

Clarke stirs, moaning and fighting as the fog of deep sated sleep clouding her brain begins to recede. She clings to it stubbornly. It’s too early to wake up anyway and it’s so warm and nice in bed…

She tries to tug her covers farther up over her shoulders but her fingers touch nothing but her own bare skin. Still, she feels her temperature rise as a warm flush spreads over her. A soothing caress on her side and over her hip surprises her but she turns to it unquestionably, the heat of it sending flickers of awareness through her sleep addled mind.

Soft lips pepper the expanse of her belly and Clarke’s eyes snap open, finding Bellamy on top of her smirking up at her, his chin comfortably resting over her belly.

“Morning princess.”

“What are you doing?” Clarke frowns, she moves beneath him trying to put some distance between them and give her brain a chance to start functioning properly before she does something stupid.

His firm weight, while not uncomfortable, holds her in place so she ceases her halfhearted struggle and remains in her place, supple.

“You asked me to wake you up before sunup so you could sneak back into the drop ship remember?”

“Mmmm,” Clarke’s eyelids drop heavily as he resumes trailing lazy kisses down her stomach as he scoots back, dipping his tongue in her navel and tenderly biting her hipbone.

“What are you doing?” she suddenly squeals as Bellamy’s kisses on her lower belly reach dangerously low.

He arches a brow at her, tearing his gaze form the sight of her intimate flesh. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Clarke’s eyes dart from his face to her pussy and back. Lips curled on a tight purse, voice an impossible mix of firm and unsure, she says “I’m not comfortable with that.”

Bellamy braces himself on his elbows on either side of her hips. “Okay. Why not?”

“I just don’t like it.”

“But you _have_ tried it?” She blushes, her skin turning bright pink from her hairline to the mounts of her breasts. “With Spacewalker.” Her silence is all the confirmation he needs, not that he was asking really. “And you didn’t like it.”

“Can we just drop this?”

“Hey, hey, we’re talking,” he says softly. “Remember I said we could stop and talk if you were uncomfortable? Well this is it babe.”

She arches a brow at him. “ _Babe_?”

“Just roll with it,” Bellamy says sharply, clears his throat and shifts his eyes away. The fuck did that come from?

He takes a big breath and starts again. “So you tried it and you hated it.”

“Basically,” Clarke nods. “I mean he was very enthusiastic about it and he kept asking me if it was okay – I just don’t really care for a repeat alright?”

Bellamy barely suppresses a chuckle. He knows for a fact Raven isn’t exactly shy about asking what she wants and taking it so it figures that she’d be the one to take charge during sex with Spacewalker and that he’d be near hopeless with Clarke who needs a firm hand to really get off.

“Okay.” Bellamy explores her with his eyes, laying before him splayed over animal furs he hunted himself, the sweetest part of her open for him. “It can be better than that though and I can show you. If you let me.”

She swallows. “I don’t know…”

He hooks his hands beneath her knees, raising them up and out until they touch the fur blanket on either side of Clarke’s hips. He curses softly, hypnotized by the delectable pink folds before him, wet and juicy just for him. He spreads his tanned hands on her inner thighs, a stark contrast with her fair skin and the alluring pink of her cunt. He bends over until his face is right above her spread thighs, inhaling her sent. “I can make you feel really good,” he says softly placing his hand over her pubic bone, just leaving the weight there, her soft dewy curls teasing his palm, as his thumb taps rhythmically over her clit.

Clarke makes a strangled noise on the back of her throat, fisting the furs on her sides.

“You know your safe word,” he reminds her, giving her a last shot to put a stop to this as the pad of his thumb falls heavily on her clit.

She doesn’t take it.

His breath is hot against her pussy right before his tongue teases her folds with strong licks. Clarke jerks beneath him, a surprised little cry tearing from her lips as he moves his thumb aside and his mouth closes over the bundle of nerves, sucking with firm tugs.

“You have to be real quiet princess,” he whispers against her, taking a short break from flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue in an upward motion. “You don’t want to wake up the whole camp do you?”

Clarke’s head thrashes from one side to the other as she squeezes her eyes closed and brings her lips to a tight line to swallow the moans she can’t help. She claws at the furs. Bellamy has her thighs pinned flat to the bed and spread wide apart as his tongue licks her firmly. His thumbs dip into her entrance and stretch her open giving room to his tongue to sneak in and lick her deeply. It feels so good it nearly hurt.

She felt her orgasm approaching and he did too. “You can’t come yet Clarke,” Bellamy warns her.

“Wh – why not?”

“Because I said so.”

He grows more aggressive, ironically frantic to make her climax, Clarke thought. Bellamy only gives her a short respite from his relentless tongue to sink his teeth lightly on the inside of her thigh, right where her leg meets her hip. He applies maddening suction there for a few moments, soothing her with a few swipes of his thumb on her clit when she grows restless and squirms underneath him, whimpering as the sensitive path of flesh is treated to the wonderful torture of his tongue.

Satisfied with the mark he left there, Bellamy turns back to his original target, nuzzling his face nuzzles tighter against her pussy and bumping his nose on her clit with every thrust of his tongue into her channel. She moans and he licks up, sucks the nub past his lips tugging at the fleshy bud with strong pulls of his mouth.

“Please I’m going to – ” Clarke pants, desperate to come.

He eases off, changing to a much slower pattern. The swipes of his tongue are broad now, covering as much of her swollen flesh as possible, bringing her back from the edge but driving her insane with need just the same.

Clarke’s back arches, pushing her pussy closer to his mouth and desperate for more. Her thighs tremble trying to slam closed, the intensity of her desire almost too much for her to handle, but Bellamy’s strong hands pinning her don’t allow it. She moans, bucks her hips, but can’t move much. Something about being so completely at his mercy just made the high all the more potent.

She clamps a hand over her mouth as he slides two fingers in and out of her pussy, slowly, hooking them upward when he reaches the end of her channel. She hovers over release, the all-consuming ache to get there but trying to fight it back bringing tears to her eyes.

Bellamy softly nibbles her clit with his teeth, his calloused fingers rubbing hard on the spot deep inside her he’s become so familiar with. “You can come now,” he growls, the words barely recognizable as he refuses to let go of her clit.

Clarke bites her own hand to keep from crying out his name, shaking uncontrollably as every mind-blowing wave of ecstasy pulsed throughout her body. His fingers tear away from her pussy and his tongue gently laps at the new rush of wetness there, easing her over her climax.

Bellamy climbs over her as she goes limp, resting in the nest between her thighs. His cock is hard and heavy where it touches her and the contact sends new waves of aftershocks spreading through her body. He gently pries her hand from her mouth, kissing the spot where her teeth dug in with such tenderness he surprises himself.

“So?” he asks smugly.

“Shut up,” she pants, glowing blissfully.

His arms pin her under him where he braces his weight with his elbows, fingers curved under her shoulders to grip her. The head of his cock easily finds her entrance and he thrusts, breaching her slowly.

“Open your mouth.”

Clarke licks her lips nervously, unsure. But she finds her defenses falling to pieces under Bellamy’s heated stare.

She reels back slightly at the first contact of their lips, recognizing the unfamiliar flavor on Bellamy’s as her own, but she surrenders soon enough. His kiss imitates the leisurely pace of his thrusting cock, taking her in and out slowly, letting her feel the full force of her taste upon his lips and the depth of his flesh inside her. Her hands free for once, Clarke takes the opportunity to explore his chest, wraps her legs tight around him and plants her heals on his firm ass, rolling her hips under him. They both groan in unison when he sinks deeper.

“You’re so fucking tight like this,” he rasps, almost losing himself in the feel of her clamping walls, already wet and swollen from his earlier treatment.

“ _Bellamy._ ”

Clarke comes unglued, her orgasm taking them both by surprise. Bellamy swallows her moans, letting them mix with his own as a blast of pleasure strikes him pulling his release from him. The force of it blasts through him spreading rapidly, straight to his brain, nearly knocking him out.

“Hey man have you seen Clarke? I can’t find – _holy fucking shit_.”

“Miller get the fuck out!” Bellamy growls, scrambling to find something to cover Clarke and himself as she turns her face away, but failing since all the covers are beneath them. At least his body covers all the important bits of Clarke, even if it does give Miller a prime view of his ass.

“Sorry!” he slaps a hand over his eyes with enough strength to leave a red mark and turns around. “I’m so sorry but it’s an emergency,” he says, sounding truly apologetic and gesticulating widely with his free hand.

“You’re _still_ here.”

“Right! Okay. I’m leaving. But hurry up because I think Anya is dying or something.”

“What?!” Clarke pushes Bellamy off her and jumps to her feet. “Where are my clothes?” she whisper-shouts, belatedly remembering they were supposed to be quiet.

Not that it matters anymore, he’s pretty sure all the tents immediately around his have a pretty clear idea that he was fucking someone with all the noise they were making towards the end, even if they couldn’t tell who it was. Clarke’s high pithed scream answered that question and woke up the rest of the whole fucking camp, probably.

“Here,” after cleaning himself and wringing it with fresh water from the bucket he likes to keep in his tent, he throws a wet cloth at her and she catches it, frowning at him. His eyes flicker to her crotch and the mess of fluids there. “Unless you want me to give you hand?”

She huffs, making quick work of cleaning herself up and getting dressed. Bellamy follows her lead and minutes later they exit the tent and rush to the drop ship pointedly ignoring the few curious looks peeking from the tents.

“Where did you go up to so early?” Raven’s sleepy voice greets them as they barge into the drop ship, looking at Clarke inquisitively.

“I wanted Bellamy’s report on the recon mission,” she answers offhandedly, climbing up the rungs of the ladder.

Raven sits up suddenly alert. “Did you find him? Is Finn okay?” she asks Bellamy, wincing as she tries to push up on her legs.

“Uh,” Bellamy catches Miller’s eye and nods to Raven.

“I’ll fill you in,” the guy says without missing a beat, and Bellamy wastes no time to follow Clarke up to the third level where they were keeping Anya.

When he reaches the top level he finds Anya slumped against the wall, pale, her breathing harsh and labored, wheezing with every exhale, and Clarke shoving Mitchel, they guy charged with watching over Anya.

“How long has she been like this?” she yells.

“Hey, easy – ” he tries batting Clarke’s hands away but Bellamy fists his shirt and jacket at the back of his neck, making the fabric dig into his throat and shoves him away.

“She asked you a question,” he rasps, watching him pale and cough for air.

“A couple of hours, who cares? She’s a grounder – ”

“Get him out of here,” Clarke snaps, kneeling beside Anya. She checks her pulse and then presses her ear to her chest, softly asking her to cough and listening.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“I think she’s having an asthma attack,” Clarke looks up to him, her brow knit in worried lines.

“Can you fix it?” when she nods, he spurts to action. “What do you need?”

“Boiled and room temperature water, and my herbs satchel is downstairs.”

“Got it,” Bellamy nods, jumping onto the ladder and quickly making his way down. “ _Miller!_ ” she hears him bellow from the second level. “ _Boiled water. Now!_ ”

“ _On it!_ ” comes the fainter response.

Clarke pushes her hair off her face, and times Anya’s pulse once again with the help of her father’s watch. Her heart rate is too elevated and she’s having a hard time bringing air into her lungs. She can see Anya’s eyelids drop.

“Stay with me Anya, I need you awake okay? I’m gonna help you.”

The woman glares at her with as much heat as she can manage. “Like,” she wheezes. “You helped – Tris.”

Clarke swallows. “This I can fix.”

Soon after Bellamy is back with her satchel and her makeshift mortar and pestle and she makes quick work of finding the herb she needs. Colloquially known as puke weed, Native Americans used it to treat respiratory disorders, among other things. It’s widely spread around this area, which is fortunate because Clarke feared that come spring the 100 would develop allergies and other maladies from being in contact with so many allergens after breathing the filtered air of the Ark, so she’d made it a point to gather it in copious amount in preparation for such a case.

She crushed the lilac flowers with the pestle until it formed a raw dark paste. She took the hot water Bellamy handed her carefully and poured some into the mortar, mixing until she was satisfied. Finally she counted twenty drops of the tincture and mixed it with cool water in a can and stirred it.

“I need you to drink this Anya,” Clarke says, gently but firmly, pressing the can to her lips. “All of it.”

Anya only shot her a long-suffering glare before taking the drink and downing it in a few sips.

Clarke brushes her palms on her knees before standing up. “You’ll start to feel better now, but you’re going to have to drink more of the tincture every half hour three or four times and you need to stay put okay?”

She turns around, almost surprised to find Bellamy still there, solemnly staring down at Anya. “And when you get better you’re gonna tell us everything you know about the Mountain Men. And No more cryptic shit,” he clarifies. “You sent us there to look for answers and you almost got us killed.”

“Shame,” Anya pants. “How did you escape?”

Bellamy scowls, his jaw locking to a stern line. “Dead men tell no tales.”

Clarke does a good job of hiding her surprise. Of all the things they talked about the night before and this morning, Bellamy killing one or more of the Mountain Men before returning to camp wasn’t one of them.

Anya is also visibly shocked, but Clarke also detects a hint of respect and admiration in her face. “That would gain you a badge of honor among my people,” she admits. Clarke turns her face away, the sight of circular burn marks on skin tallying the grounders’ kills still too fresh in her memory.

“The Mountain Men?” Bellamy insists harshly, ignoring her last words. “They have our friends, they’re keeping them alive for some reason. What do you know?”

“She should rest right now,” Clarke says lowly, fighting the unfamiliar urge of curling her fingers around his wrist and pulling him away. While her breathing has evened out and her color is much healthier, Anya is still recuperating from a severe attack and needs time before they can grill her for information.

“Not much to tell,” Anya supplies, her voice hoarse, regardless of Clarke’s frown. “They come with their suits and gas bombs and they take our people. Entire villages gone. The Reapers are the ones we tell our children stories about,” she swallows. “But it’s the Mountain Men that give us nightmares.”

“You’ve seen them?” Clarke asks, sharing a look with Bellamy.

Anya laughs dryly, spurting a short run of dry coughing. “They would’ve taken me too with my village when I was a child, but my sickness saved me,” she tells them, patting her chest with her hand. “It was worse back then, now it just happens rarely. I couldn’t breathe,” a shadow falls over her opal eyes and for a moment they can see she’s not that much different than them, young and scared and trying to survive. “I couldn’t breathe their gas so I crawled away from my mother’s body when they weren’t looking.”

She snaps herself out of it, moves uncomfortably and her breathing comes out more regularly.

“No one comes back from the Mountain. Your friends are as good as dead.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #freebellamy


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the amazing continued support you're giving me and this story. It means the world to me really <3

The arrow sails through the air accompanied by Bellamy’s vicious cursing as its trajectory angles off mark and finally lands two trees away from the target.

He’s been at it for the past hour or so. Idle moments are rare and far between, there’s always something to do at camp, be it hunt, fix the walls, settle a dispute or organize a teenage militia, so when late afternoon arrived and he’d gotten all his chores done and no one needed him, Bellamy decided to take advantage of his spare time to finally pick up the bow he selected for himself from the Grounder’s loot and practice shooting some arrows.

Well, if he’s being honest, his first thought was finding Clarke, but even though the idea of fucking her again was incredibly appealing, unlike him she was in fact busy. One of the guys hammered his thumb repairing a section of the wall and she feared he’d broken it.

Besides, this is something he actually wants to do, to _learn_. They’re out of bullets so all those guns are basically useless until they can make more ammo, _if_ they can cook more gunpowder. He needs to be ready for another attack, and if he masters this whole archery thing, he can teach the other shooters and build up their defense.

Now, in theory, the coordination required for firing a gun should translate well into shooting an arrow. You aim, you take the shot. Easy.

Or so he thought.

For starters, he’s using muscle groups he didn’t know he had just to hold the bow in the proper position, and they’re burning like a son of a bitch. His posture, how hard he holds the bow, with how much pressure he draws back the string, how far it should go, how to attach the arrow to the string with his fingers and simultaneously lining up the shot; they’re all things he hadn’t previously considered and thought would be easy and natural.

Instead, he spent an hour just to figure out the correct shooting stance, the skin on the inside of his right forearm is red and littered with thin stinging lines where the string slapped him, the three middle fingers of his string hand are raw, and his aim is basically shit. He’s getting some distance though, at least the arrows aren’t dropping two feet away from him anymore. That’s progress, he guesses, and the best he can do since he doesn’t have another way to learn this skill than trial and error.

Bellamy rolls his tired shoulders, dropping his bow arm. He used up all the arrows he’d neatly piled up beside him on the ground before he started, so now he’s left with the inglorious task of picking them up from where they’re scattered.

“Now I get why you came away from camp to practice,” Clarke’s light voice reaches him. He lifts his head, crouching as he gathers three arrows. She steps into the clearing passing two trees, a teasing smile curling her lips. “This is embarrassing.”

“Says the girl who can’t wield a spear to save her life,” he snorts.

“That’s not true. I’m an excellent hunter.” She backtracks with a shrug when he shoots her an incredulous look. “I brought a deer once to camp.”

“Clarke you beat the thing unconscious with your spear and then gutted it,” he deadpans. “People were scared of you after that.”

“Do I detect a tone of pride?”

“Hell yeah.”

The words come out far more emphatically than he intended but it’s the truth. She tries to hide her blush ducking her head and collecting some arrows. Soon enough they’re all tucked into the quiver.

“It’s getting dark,” Clarke says. “Dinner’ll be ready soon.”

Bellamy closes the distance between them. His hands fall over her shoulders, sneaking beneath the collar of her jacket and then pushing it down. “So everyone’s distracted.”

“Or they’re gonna wonder where we are – ”

“In which case they’ll ask Miller who’ll have a hell of a time covering our asses,” he cuts in, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the sides of her neck.

“I didn’t tell him I was coming here,” Clarke clarifies, frowning. “What if they think I’m missing again and send out a searching party?”

“Without consulting me? They wouldn’t dare.”

She plants her hands on his chest, pushing ineffectually and looking genuinely worried. “But what if they come here to _consult_ you…” she rolls her eyes at the word and Bellamy tries really hard to ignore how cute she looks. “…and find us?”

“Miller’s a smart guy, he’ll notice you’re gone if he hasn’t already and figure out you’re here. Not much escapes him,” Bellamy assures her.

Clarke relaxes, steps closer to him until her breasts are pushed against his chest, the sensation of her pliant softness meeting his firm muscles sending thrills of excitement through her.

She lifts her eyes to his, finding them lit up with the heat and want she first discovered that night on the foxhole, identical to the desire boiling just beneath her skin. “It’s not going to be very comfortable here,” she whispers, her breath warm on his lips.

Bellamy gives her a wolfish grin, a silent promise before his mouth descends on hers and pulls her into a kiss so devastating in its intensity Clarke’s left breathless and clinging to his broad shoulders.

He carefully arranges their jackets to cushion her back when he lowers her to the ground. He settles on top of her, bracing his weight on his elbow, and his scent envelops her, filling her nose and becoming branded in her brain.

“What happened here?” Clarke asks, lightly running the pads of her fingers on the irritated patch of skin on the inside of his forearm.

“Bowstring,” he winces.

“You shouldn’t have taken off your jacket,” she hums. Her hands feel the firm muscles of his chest under the ragged material of his shirt, rippling as they travel down his abdomen to finally sneak under the shirt at the sides of his hip.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He smiles against her lips. Clarke runs her hand up his back gathering his shirt on the way, the warmth of his skin igniting the flame of her desire.

They shrug off their clothes quickly, in a frenzy, their hearts beating faster with every inch of skin revealed.

Clarke gasps audibly when Bellamy firmly grips her hips and yanks her up to her knees as he got to his, turning her away from him with a gentle prod.

The sounds of the woods intensified around her, birds chirping and billowing wind between the tree leaves like a symphony. Small rocks on the ground bite into her knees, even through the layers of clothes, and she winces with pain. It merges with her excitement and the need pulsing in her belly, beating a persistent rhythm as she feels the coarse hairs of Bellamy’s thighs tickle the back of her legs.

He shifts her, kicking her legs apart to fit himself there, his hold on her hips strong enough to leave the imprint of his fingertips there and she shivers with anticipation. Cataloguing the marks he leaves on her skin is quickly becoming her guilty pleasure. She’ll touch and stare at every little bruise, every bite and hickey until they disappear and crave for whatever new ones he might give her.

One of his hands leaves her hip traveling up her front. Bellamy applies steady pressure beneath her breasts until her back is flush against his chest. He presses against her as he lowers his head to gently nip her shoulder. He lifts her until she’s perched on his lap, his cock bobbing against her terse skin. She’s so malleable on his hands Bellamy tenses, the urge to just wrap himself around her and keep her safe from the world completely unexpected and irrationally sending need to fist at the base of his cock, making him harder.

“Gonna fuck you now Clarke,” he tells her softly, one hand gently touching between her legs and groaning when he finds the telling wetness there. “You know the rules,” he gathers her fluids and rolls her clit between his thumb and forefinger. “No coming until I say so. And you gotta be quiet, we’re not that far from camp. Can you do that?”

Clarke nods, already panting and rolling her hips to get more friction. Bellamy’s fingers dig into her hip warningly and Clarke stops her movement haltingly.

“I asked you a question,” Bellamy rasps in her ear, his hand abandoning her pussy to deliver a short, stinging slap to the inside of her thigh.

Clarke squeals and jerks in his hold. “Yes,” she breathes shakily. “ _Yes._ I can do that.”

“Good. Bend over for me.”

She plants her hands on the ground, nails digging into the dirt. She’d imagined a lot of things about Earth, colors and smells and even the force of gravity pulling down on her, everything natural instead of synthetic or artificial like it was on the Ark, but this? Sex on the woods, on her hands and knees digging her fingernails on the dirt while the light of the setting sun washed over them and anyone could see them? This was so far out of her wildest dreams she wasn’t even sure it was real.

But she needs to look no further than over her shoulder into Bellamy’s dark eyes, feel her skin break into goose bumps where his breath tickles her, the sure touch of his hands, to know this is really happening, and she wants it, wants him, more than she thought she could ever want anyone or anything. Her body screams for him to take her.

Bellamy’s hand explores her smooth back, his thumb following the long line of her spine before his hand grips her bare breast, gently squeezing.

A finger breaches the entrance of her pussy, the long digit stroking deep. Before she could get used to it it’s gone and the broad crown of Bellamy’s cock replaces it, pushing in slowly. Clarke arches her back as the pleasure of being filled by him tears through her.

Bellamy grips her hips with both hands, eyes fixed on the hypnotizing sight of his cock disappearing into her pussy, feeding her inch after inch. His cock is wide and her body has to stretch to accommodate him. He felt the same magnificent tightness the other times they fucked but save for the first night on the drop ship, he didn’t get a prime view of what he was doing to her, and if he’s honest that first night he was far too gone to appreciate it.

But now he can take his time, sliding his cock inside her slowly, inch after inch, pulling back and starting again, all the while admiring the glorious sight of her taking it. He groans, panting almost, feeling her walls contract around him as she pushes back against him, wanting more.

Clarke’s sigh when he sinks the last inch of his dick inside her nearly undoes him. He grips her hips, moves his body until he’s completely wrapped around her, every bit of sweaty skin in contact from his hips pressed to her ass to his chest against her back.

“Bellamy,” she begs, trying to wiggle her hips to spur him into motion.

“Don’t move,” he orders bitingly. He can feel his grip on control slipping.

His hand leaves her hip and he grips her around her chest, pulling her up as she straightens. His hard thighs between hers are the only thing keeping her up, and Bellamy steels himself to maintain balance for the both of them, wrapping his arms around her middle to keep Clarke in place. Without slacking the hold of his arms, one hand travels to explore her pussy, touching where they’re joined before trapping her clit firmly between his thumb and fore finger.

As Bellamy begins to pull out of her, Clarke whines, forgetting her promise to stay quiet. His arms tighten around her waist just as he thrusts into her hard and deep.

He continues that rhythm – out slow, in fast and hard – for what seem like hours. His fingers never leave her clit go – they don’t do anything other than hold it. The steady pressure there coupled with the driving cock plundering her pussy notches her pleasure high swiftly to a nearly unbearable point.

Bellamy’s hips pump fast, driving in and out of her pussy with wild abandon. Her climax comes, she can practically taste it, but it never quite arrives. He’s touching her in all the right places but it’s not enough to set her off like a rocket the way she knows she can. There’s something more she wants, something she needs and can’t quite put her finger on what it is because her brain is too focused on the slap of his flesh against hers and the feeling of being utterly and completely possessed by Bellamy.

“You wanna come princess?” he growls, pulling her earlobe between his teeth.

“ _Y – yes_ – oh my _god_.” Clarke moans.

“Where are your manners?” Bellamy says darkly as he furiously pounds into her pussy harder from behind.

“Please, Bellamy.”

“You gotta do better than that.”

Clarke whines. He wants her to say it, to hear the words rolling from her tongue. “Please, can I – can I come?”

Bellamy smirks against the spot where her neck and shoulder meet. “You have my permission.”

The fingers holding her clit suddenly release it and the rush of blood there makes it pulse. Clarke screams out in rapture, the walls of her pussy contracting wildly around his hammering cock.

She lets out a long wail as the climax rolls through her. Her insides clench and clamp around her, heightening her pleasure as he continues to thrust into her sensitive channel.

“Fuck,” Bellamy growls. “Fuck.”

Bellamy suddenly bites her shoulder, his muffled growl vibrating against her skin. His hips jerk violently against her ass with his pulsing cock deeply rooted inside her, filling her with his seed.

Only the sound of their breathing breaks the harsh quiet of the woods lit by the setting sun.

* * *

“Okay, let me see.”

Miller pulls Amos’ hand closer to his face, inspecting the wound with narrowed eyes. There’s a diagonal cut on his palm, with blood flowing copiously from it. “Doesn’t look that bad.”

“…It really hurts,” the boy says lamely. “I think I need stitches.”

“That’s your own damn fault. You’re on the gathering group, what the hell were you doing chopping meat?”

“Helping?” Amos says quizzically, tilting his head to the side.

Miller blinks at him. “Go sit somewhere and keep pressure on the wound.”

“Shouldn’t Clarke take a look at it?”

“She’s busy,” Miller says dismissively. This is the third person who’s come to him looking for Clarke since she left and he’s running out of excuses.

“I’d feel better if she – ” the sentence dies under Miller’s steady glare. “But it really hurts!”

“That’s too bad. _Go_.”

Amos sulks away and Miller sighs inwardly. He does not get paid enough for this shit.

Oh wait.

Cursing Bellamy and desperately hoping he and Clarke get back to camp sooner rather than later, he turns around only to find Raven directing her patented assertive look at him from the door of the drop ship.

“Where _is_ Clarke?” she asks, slowly making her way down the ramp, only wincing slightly with every step. She was cooped up on the drop ship all day long, so the fresh air of the early night is much welcomed.

Miller scowls at her. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I’ve had enough of that.”

“Clarke said – ”

“Clarke’s not here,” Raven cuts in with a little smirk, shaking her head and making her long ponytail tease her back. “Which brings us back to my original question. Where is she?”

“She ran out of seaweed. I told her it could wait till tomorrow, that Bellamy wouldn’t like it if she left alone so late, especially if he’s not here, but she wasn’t hearing any of it,” he delivers the lie convincingly, adding a shrug here and affecting his voice with a concerned edge when he mentions Bellamy’s potential anger. All in all, Miller thinks he did a good job lying right out of his ass, and gives himself a mental pat in the back when Raven looks like she bought it.

It’s short-lived though.

“I’ll give you points for actually doing your homework. I know Clarke _did_ run out of seaweed but she’d never leave camp alone this late and so soon after the grounder attack,” she crosses her arms over her chest, raising her chin defiantly and stepping closer to him. “You’re covering for her. Why?”

Before he’s forced to answer one of the lookouts runs up to them, almost tripping when he stops.

“We heard a scream,” he pants heavily. “And there’s a group of people moving towards us through the northeast section.”

“Shit. How far are they?”

“We lost them when they crossed the stream, the trees are too dense to see. But they should hit the clearing any moment now.”

Miller rubs his face, cursing colorfully. That’s the clearing where Bellamy said he’d be, away from camp to give him some privacy but not enough that the lookouts can’t keep an eye out for any strange movement in the area. He’s ninety eight per cent sure Clarke is there with him and if this morning was any indication they are both probably distracted and soon to get killed.

With a heavy heart and a foul taste in his mouth he orders the gates shut.

* * *

Clarke lifts her head from the comfortable spot over Bellamy’s naked chest. “Did you hear something?”

“’S probably just an animal,” he says, still basking in the spectacular orgasm she drew from him. The thin sheen of sweat glistening their skin has cooled and he can feel the goose bumps on Clarke’s skin, so he holds her closer, sharing his body heat. “A brave one. I’m pretty sure we made enough noise to scare off every goddamn –”

His hand grips her hip and they both freeze when the sound reaches them again, this time clearly closer. Bellamy holds his breath, studiously trying to concentrate on the sound and identifying it.

“Someone’s coming,” Clarke whispers, pushing up on her knees.

“Several someones,” Bellamy growls, pulling his pants and boots on. His shirt is too far away hanging from a branch – how the fuck did it end up there anyway? – and he’d rather drop his jacket on Clarke’s shoulders while she’s hurriedly lacing up her boots and lunging for his bow than waste time going for it.

Not that it’ll do them much good with his hit aim, he curses to himself as he curls his fingers on the bow and picks an arrow from the quiver lying on the ground. He could beat them with the thing though.

The sun disappeared on the horizon not too long ago, leaving the shadows to grow. Whoever the intruders, they’re coming from the direction opposite to the camp, so it’s not their people. He knows exactly when Clarke reaches the same conclusion.

“Grounders or Reapers?” she mouths.

“We’re fucked either way,” he swears under his breath.

As the noise grows in volume they can make out the distinct sound of talking, even though they can’t make out any words. Bellamy points the bow downwards and nocks the arrow, his eyes fixed on the direction the sound seems to come from. He can make out two figures coming their way between the trees.

Cool hands on his hips startle him and Bellamy nearly yelps, but it’s only Clarke wrapping the quiver strap around him and securing it.

“Do you think they saw us?” she glances at him, shifting her weight from one leg to the other as she holds her knife before her steadily.

“They’re fast but they’re not hiding their presence…” He cocks his head to the large tree behind them and they hurry to take cover.

When the strangers almost reach the clearing, Bellamy steps away from the tree. Clarke follows him, staying at his back but not crowding him as he raises the bow and draws the string in one fluid motion until his knuckles brush his earlobe. Before he has a chance to think about it, he aims and relaxes the fingers on the string, releasing the arrow and watching as it flies.

It misses its target as expected, but only narrowly, avoiding the head of the woman frozen in fear and landing with a crack on the bark of a tree behind her.

Too late he recognizes the other man and the rifle in his hands. Shots fire towards them. His hand scrambles to grab another arrow from the quiver but he’s clumsy. Clarke pulls him down, her shouts to cease fire flying over his head along with the bullets.

“MARCUS STOP!”

Deafening silence follows and Clarke carefully raises her head, laying half over Bellamy’s bare back and pushes up on her hands when she sees the danger has passed.

She feels a hollow on her stomach that has nothing to do with hunger or fear, seeing the familiar brown eyes of her mother for the first time since she came to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your feedback is incredibly important to me so please leave me a comment!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't enough words to express how humbled I am by the response to this fic. Seriously, I love that you love it and hearing that you gave it a shot even though D/s isn't your thing and still found it to your liking is one of the best compliments I could ever receive. 
> 
> Good news! I have a beta now, the lovely Amanda (amacancion on tumblr and farfallama here on AO3) so credit goes to her for my now impeccable grammar ;-)
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

“Clarke!”

Her shock is so great it takes her a moment to register her mother’s arms wrapped tightly around her, and another second to realize she’s clinging to her just as hard.

“I never stopped believing I’d see you again,” Abby sobs, pulling back slightly to look lovingly at Clarke’s shocked face. “I never lost hope.”

“How is this possible?” Clarke puts distance between them, shaking her head in confusion. “The Exodus ship crashed,” she says, turning to look at Bellamy. “We saw it.”

“I got off at the last second. I’ll explain everything to you later –” With a sob she tugs Clarke closer and buries her face in her daughter’s neck, despite Clarke’s increasingly cold demeanor.

Bellamy takes the opportunity to grab his shirt from a low hanging branch. Kane eyes his exposed chest and hastily laced up boots shrewdly, glancing at Clarke’s ~~evident~~ hurriedly thrown on clothes and the too big jacket clinging to her small frame. He correctly puts two and two together and guesses what Clarke and Bellamywere doing right before they showed up, but chooses not to make a comment.  For that Bellamy is thankful, even if Kane’s face conveys his disapproval easily.

“How many of you survived the drop?” Bellamy asks, preemptively steering the conversation to a safe topic, directing his question to Kane seeing as Abby is still smiling and crying all over Clarke who is awkwardly trying to disentangle herself from her mother’s hold.

Kane looks like he might ignore his question for a moment and Bellamy feels the familiar stirring of anger in his gut.

“We have two hundred on Mecha station. The numbers on Alpha are promising,” he says guardedly. “We still don’t know if the other stations made it in one piece.”

“We were going to send out a search party soon,” Bellamy tells him, shrugging his shirt on. “Grounders attacked us and we sustained severe damage. Securing our camp was the priority.”

Kane’s lips curl slightly and a flicker of something akin to respect lights his eyes. “Good call.”

“We saw your smoke signal a few days ago,” Abby says, her touch lingering on Clarke even as her daughter pulls away. “We came as soon as we could.”

“You ventured into the woods alone?” Clarke frowns, glancing back and forth between her mother and Kane. “With no reinforcements?”

“We separated from our group when we heard the screams,” Kane glares, seemingly affronted that she should question him. “We have three guard units with us.”

“Fat lot of use they are, Bellamy nearly put an arrow through my mother’s head,” Clarke bites out, her voice clipped and her eyes narrowing to slits.  

“We thought someone was hurt,” Abby cuts in before the tension between Kane and Clarke turns into a full blown battle of wills. “Obviously that’s not the case,” she says cautiously, tilting her head slightly in Bellamy’s direction, her lips pressed to a thin line as she gives her daughter what Clarke recognizes as a scolding look.

Clarke fights her blush, born out of anger rather than embarrassment. She and Bellamy weren’t doing anything wrong. She struggles to control her breathing, refusing to give them the satisfaction of reacting to their disapproval.

Clarkesteps away from her mother, feeling calmer with every foot of distance between them, shrugging off Bellamy’s jacket and passing it to him before putting her own on. She shares a quick look with Bellamy, eyes briefly locked in a silent conversation.

“It’s getting late,” he says, turning to Kane and Abby. “Do you have a way to contact your team and give them the coordinates of our camp?” Kane nods.

Just then one of the units, six men in full riot gear, rolls in. Bellamy recognizes a few of them from his days as a cadet, though all but one studiously ignore him.

“The other two teams are on stand-by sir,” the team leader, a tall blonde woman Bellamy had known as Lieutenant Byrne, one of his old instructors, informs Kane.

“Good.”

Meanwhile Bellamy pulls his radio from his pocket, flicking it on and filling the tense silence with static. Clarke can’t help the smug little smile tugging at her lips atthe shock evident on their faces as they stare at the device made of odds and ends. “Miller. Come in.”

_“Bellamy!”_

A sharp inhale catches Clarke’s attention. She glances at one of the guards staring intently at the radio in Bellamy’s hand, the hold on his rifle slackened. 

_“Lookouts spotted hostiles in your area. We’re in full lockdown and preparing to move in on you. Over.”_ Miller’s voice is clear and steady, and Clarke can only detect a slight edge of urgency ~~on~~ in it.

“Hold your positions,” Bellamy orders firmly. “No hostiles in the area. I repeat, there are no hostiles in the area. We’re with the Arkers. Maintain lockdown until we arrive. Over.”

There’s a moment of silence that stretches too long where Clarke can easily picture Miller and all the others gathered around him gasp in astonishment and reel back. _“Roger that,”_ he finally says.

“This way,” Clarke calls as she starts moving towards camp.

The others fall back behind her. Abby tries to take the lead with her and engage her in conversation but Clarke doesn’t even spare her a glance as she hikes at a fast pace, hard for her mother to keep up with because unlike Clarke, she is still unfamiliar with the terrain. Now that the shock of her mother being alive has worn off somewhat, the old anger and hurt trickles into every fiber of her being, bleeding from a festering wound she never got to treat.

Bellamy appears beside her, bow slung across his chest. There’s a small twig and a leaf clinging to his curly hair right above his ear, which she guesses found its way there when they were definitely _not_ cuddling before her mother and Kane interrupted them. Her hands fist, beating down the urge to thread her fingers through his curls and pluck the offensive little twig.

“So rule number one of our sexcapades just pretty much became null and void,” he says lowly, only for her ears.

Clarke glances back over her shoulder to where her mother and Kane are having a hushed conversation and sneaking glances at their backs, then stares up at Bellamy’s expressive brown eyes. She sighs tiredly.

“Let’s just get back to camp,” she bites out. “We can figure it out later.”

* * *

“… and then Diana Sydney launched the Exodus ship while still connected to the Ark’s mainframe, causing severe damage to our systems,” Kane tells them. “We were out of power with limited air and lost a lot of people. We had to choose between certain death up there or risk our lives coming down to Earth.”

Their breathing is the only audible thing in the tent for a while after Kane finishes briefing them. Dinner had long been cleared away, Clarke and Bellamy devouring theirs while Kane and Abby only managed to stomach a few bites of the cooked meat. Clarke warned them that it would take a while before their bodies adjusted to the food and water available on earth, and encouraged them to slowly incorporate meats, berries and the like to their diet and save the nutrition packets they’d brought from the Ark for a rainy day.

Next to her, Bellamy sighed. “If that ship had landed successfully the grounders wouldn’t have dared attack us and we wouldn’t have had to fire up the whole damn camp. Can’t believe I voted for the bitch.”

“Well you seem to have managed.”

Bellamy scowls at Abby. “We lost eighteen people and two of our own are MIA.”

“What Abby is trying to say is that you did what you could under the circumstances. Why _did_ the grounders attack?”

Clarke marveled at Kane’s ability to sound condescending even while giving them what would pass for a compliment.

“We’re on their territory. That’s enough for them.”

“But we have reason to believe their leader will now be more receptive of a peace agreement,” Clarke added.

Kane frowns. “How so?”

Clarke and Bellamy share a look. “We captured one of them. She provided information on how to contact their leader and about the people who are holding Finn and Monty.”

Abby gapes at them, horrified.

“And how exactly did you obtain this information?” Kane sneers. “I assume she didn’t just offer her cooperation.”

Bellamy narrows his eyes. “She hasn’t been harmed if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Well, I’ll want to speak with this – _grounder_ ,” the word rolls out of his mouth with a fascinating mix of contempt and disbelief, like he can’t trust that Anya exist and that her people have actively tried to kill them unless he can hear it from the source himself. “And I’m sure I can reach an understanding with their leader and clear this mess you’ve gotten yourselves into once and for all.”

Instinctively feeling Bellamy, who is dangerously close to jumping across the tent and knocking the smug look off Kane’s face, stiffen beside her, Clarke places a calming hand over his thigh, squeezing warningly. The effect is immediate as he relaxes under her touch, only the hard set of his jaw showing how angry he really is. The gesture doesn’t escape the prying eyes of her mother, but Clarke frankly doesn’t have the energy to care about what that might mean right now.

“We didn’t reach this point with the grounders through our fault alone,” Clarke states coolly, her gaze hard on the adults. “Certainly there were misunderstandings along the way, but they interpreted our landing here as act of war simply because they consider this their territory, and thus attacked us. We’ve been defending ourselves accordingly.”

“And considering our army is made of teenagers who’ve never been trained in any form of combat, we’ve done well enough,” Bellamy adds acerbically.

“Well you won’t have to worry about any of that anymore. We’re here now. How soon can this camp be dismantled?” Kane asks. “I’d like to get everyone settled in Alpha station in the next couple of days, and of course anything here that can be of use will have to be carried.”

“We’re not going anywhere.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard what she said. This is our home now,” Bellamy states says with as much conviction as he did in his speech before the grounders attacked them.  Clarke now easily recognizes the stirring of arousal within her hearing him speak so passionately. “You’re welcome to ask everyone else here if they want to follow you, but I doubt many will.”

The vein in Kane’s forehead pumps dangerously while Abby looks dumbstruck. “Clarke, this is insane!”

“No, this is treason,” Kane snaps, jumping from his seat. “You are citizens of the Ark, all of you, and you have an obligation to our people.”

Bellamy stands up as well, going head to head with Kane. “The Ark sent us down here to die.”

“Not you. The only reason you’re here is because you’re an assassin,” Kane says disdainfully, the volume of his voice lowering unlike Bellamy’s. “A _failed_ one. And yet you get to live while Jaha slowly dies of asphyxiation.”

“Well he floated two thirds of the parents of everyone in this camp and then told them their lives were expendable as we came hurtling down through the atmosphere on a hundred year old ship,” he bites out derisively. “You’re not gonna find much sympathy for the guy here.”

“I should have you arrested.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“That’s enough,” Abby cries. “Marcus, sit down. The kids have been on their own for a long while, it’s natural that they would want their freedom.” She turns her eyes to Clarke, pleading with her. “But I urge you to reconsider. We should all stick together. We can keep you safe.”

“You can’t just decide you don’t want to be a part of our society anymore,” Kane snorts.

“Actually, I think that’s what we did,” Clarke retorts calmly. She’s the only one who hasn’t left her seat, and in fact she’s quite comfortable reclining against the back of it and watching as Kane angrily paces the small space of the tent, Bellamy’s dark and gloomy gaze following him, and her mother wringing her hands and looking at her silently asking her to follow their orders. “We’re not taking mutual cooperation between both our camps off the table and we hope to maintain civil and friendly relations, but we _are_ refusing to go back. As of now we don’t answer to you or your laws and any dealings between our people will be done on equal standings.”

Clarke crosses her legs and leans forward, the equally stunned looks on her mother and Kane’s faces feeding her confidence. “This meeting is over. You’ll find Miller outside, he’ll direct you and your guards to your tents. In the morning you can ask our people if they wish to leave with you and those who do will be free to go. Goodnight.”

The finality in her tone is as clear as daylight. The unabashedly proud grin curling Bellamy’s lips lights up the whole tent. Kane and Abby share both horrified and infuriated looks, reeling back from her command. Seeing as they make no move to leave, Bellamy closes the short distance to the opening of his tent and moves the flap away, finding Miller not too far away getting reacquainted with his father. With a wave he calls him over.

“Can you show them to their tents please? The drop ship is off limits,” he stresses the last part. There’s no way they’ll give them any kind of access to Anya. With a whisper, he adds, “And double the guards on our guest.”

Miller nods. “Consider it done,” Then louder and directly to Kane and Abby, he says, “I cleared three tents already. This way.”

Abby stops and turns back just as she’s about to exit the tent.

“Are you staying here Clarke?”

And there it is.

She knows her mother. She had years to study the masterfully veiled jealousy in her eyes whenever she saw Clarke and Jake bond over silly things like decades old football games and the study of cartography, her dad’s only hobby; she managed to decipher the wild array of smiles her mother would give her, separating the ones that meant she loved her from Clarke’s personal least favorite, the one she used because she was amused by her passionate dedication to her art but wished she’d put the same energy into her medical studies.

Everything from the inflection of her voice whenever she directly addressed Bellamy, her calculating silence during most of the meeting, and the decidedly tumultuous glare she pinned on Clarke’s hand while it rested on his thigh, told her Abby was dying to know the precise nature of her relationship with Bellamy. Frankly, Clarke was impressed she’d lasted this long without asking.

Now she’s faced with a crucible. Try to bullshit her way out and deny her mother’s suspicions, even though the deck is piled pretty high on her not buying a word she says considering she found them in the woods alone and half dressed.

Or just say ‘fuck it’ and leave her mother with the patent knowledge that while she’ll be sleeping a few tents away, Clarke will be letting Bellamy do filthy things to her all night long and loving every minute of it.

“I am,” she answers finally, a sly little smile curling her lips as she lets her eyes briefly appreciate Bellamy’s impressive figure.

The look in her mother’s eyes before she left would probably hurt Clarke if she didn’t hate her so terribly.

“That was hot,” Bellamy smirks at her when they’re finally alone. “From now on you can take the lead in any and all negotiations we need to do.”

“And you’ll what, stand to the side glowering at everyone?” Clarke bites her lip, purposefully teasing him.

“I know my strengths.”

He leans down to cup her cheek but the moment is ruined by the involuntary wince that scrunches up his face.

“What is it?” Clarke asks worriedly, standing up.

“Think I pulled a muscle in my back earlier,” he grumbles, gingerly rolling his shoulders.

“Let me see.”

She pulls him down to sit on the bed, kneeling behind him and tugging off his jacket and shirt. She settles her hands on top of his shoulders, gently brushing her palms down the sides of his spine before pressing with her thumbs right under his scapulae. She rubs small circles there as she moves up, finding a particularly stubborn cluster of knots on the right side. Bellamy groans when she applies more pressure there with both hands, his head dropping to his chest.

“You overdid it today with the bow,” she scolds him. “And can I also remind you you’re still recovering from running over twenty miles nonstop, getting your ass kicked by a grounder a hundred pounds heavier than you and let’s not forget, _getting hanged_?”

“I’m fine,” a soft sigh of pleasure escapes him and he lolls his head to the side, shivering as the tension gradually leaves his muscles under Clarke’s skilled ministrations. “Just a little sore.”

She makes no other comment, losing herself in the massage. Her hands find every sore spot in his back and proceed to soothe it, even the ones on his lower back that make Bellamy curse and grit his teeth when she touches them.

After a while she makes her way up to his neck, softly massaging there as his head falls back to rest on the cushion of her plentiful breasts. His eyes are closed so Clarke takes the opportunity to count the freckles dusting his nose and memorize every inch of his face. Before she knows it she’s running her fingers through his hair, massaging his skull. He gifts her with a litany of sighs and moans and groans that do nothing to quench the desire dampening her panties. But as much as she wants to be selfish and be on the receiving end of his attentions – which she knows will start the moment her wandering hands stop – the idea of giving Bellamy even a fraction of the pleasure he’s given her is more arousing than anything else her mind can conjure up.

He’s been incredibly enthusiastic and generous showing her the pleasure they can find together, and she wants to return the favor.

Bellamy stirs when she pushes off the bed, his eyes going from sleepy to confused to turned on when Clarke moves to kneel on the ground between his spread legs. She continues her massage, fingers tripping on fading bruises from his fight with Tristan, touching his dusky flat nipples, making her way down his defined abs, the muscles rippling underneath his smooth skin.

“Clarke,” he rasps warningly when she fingers the thin patch of dark hair trailing from his navel and disappearing beneath his pants.

She licks her lips, gaze locked on the heat of his eyes, as her slightly trembling hands flick open the button of his pants and lower the zipper painfully slowly.

“You ever done this before?” he asks.

Clarke considers lying, but immediately decides against it. “No.” He can put up with her inexperience and be patient or she’ll be out of this tent faster than he can say grounders.

His answer surprises her and has her rubbing her thighs together to ease the growing ache there.

“Good. Means I get to teach you.”

The wicked gleam in his eyes should scared her but all Clarke feels is more desire pulsing in her belly.

“First, we’re gonna take this off,” Bellamy says as he raises the hem of her shirt over her head, pulling it off completely. Clarke moves to take off her bra as well but a single shake of his head stops her. Instead, Bellamy lowers the cups of her bra, folding them on the underside of her breasts, thus making them stand up and out even more than usual.

Her nipples are already hard and he rolls the stiff peaks between his fingers drawing a helpless moan from Clarke.

“Now I want you to fold your arms behind your back,” he commands softly, helping her arrange her limbs the way he wants them, crossing them behind the small of her back. “Like this,” he curls her fingers so that each hand is holding onto the opposite forearm. “Perfect. Don’t let go.”

His hands reach the back of her head and tug off the piece of string she uses to keep her hair out of her eyes, admiring the golden locks as they frame her face. He tucks it into his pant pocket, the one that doesn’t have a hole at the bottom because if he loses that string she’s going to be pissed and he likes to avoid that as much as possible.

Bellamy stands up and moves to the side to take off his boots, pants and boxers. Clarke sways a little on her knees, her balance hard to keep when she has her thighs pressed so closely together. Bellamy smirks internally. He bets the seam of her jeans feels pretty damn good in that position. Too bad he can’t let her maintain it.

He briefly considers taking off her pants to be able to appreciate the sight of her exposed cunt getting wetter and wetter as she sucks him, but the packed dirt ground would skin her knees, so that’s a definite no. Plus this way it’ll be like unwrapping a present; after she finishes him off he’ll get to pull every stich of clothing off her and see with his own eyes how much he affected her.

Bellamy crouches beside her, palming her leg and running his fingers down the seam of her thighs, feeling her jump and gasp. “Spread your knees.” He helps her until her knees are aligned with her shoulders while her booted feet are still touching. His hands grip her hips. “See how it’s easier to balance your weight like this?”

Clarke nods, clears her throat. “Yeah – yes. Very comfortable.”

He wants to laugh at the aggravated purse of her lips when she notices this position doesn’t allow her any friction in her genital area, but wisely doesn’t.

“Now sit back on your heels.”

He holds her elbows as he helps her, the movement trickier than it seems when she can’t use her hands to keep balance.

He takes a moment to appreciate how gorgeous and sexy she looks arranged to his liking and surprises both of them when he brushes his lips against hers in a soft, innocent kiss, before taking his previous place on the bed bracketing her between his legs.

Cock fisted in his hand, Bellamy strokes himself slowly under Clarke’s hungry gaze. He rubs the mushroom head on her lips, coating them with the few drops of precum gathered there. Clarke sighs, her eyes falling shut and her tongue sneaking out to lick her lips, tasting the salty tang of him for the first time.

Bellamy nearly comes right there. Granted, he doubts this little session will last long since he’s about ready to bust a nut, but he plans to hold back _at least_ until he can feel the warmth of her mouth around him.

Clarke traps the head between her lips, softly laving it with her tongue. Bellamy drops his hands and fists the furs beside him, letting her control the depth and pace. She starts bobbing her head, taking more of his cock inside her mouth. She is very clearly improvising, sucking and using her tongue with no rhyme or reason and yeah, Bellamy has had some pretty skilled partners giving him head, but there’s something incredibly hot about being inside the same mouth she used to basically tell her mother and Kane to fuck off. Not to mention this is Clarke Griffin he’s talking about, and she doesn’t do anything half assed. Even inexperienced, she’s blowing his mind.

“That’s good, princess,” he groans. He frames her face with his hands, pushing her hair back and fisting it at the nape of her neck. “Watch the teeth.”

She hums in response, taking another inch of him deeper and staring up at him with wide blue eyes. Bellamy nearly blacks out.

Clarke lets his cock fall from her mouth with a wet plop, instantly missing its weight on her tongue. The whine that breathes past his lips spurs her on, and she licks the underside of his shaft from the very base to the top. She gives some attention to his balls too, wishing she could roll the large sack between her fingers as she takes him into her mouth. But he told her to hold on to her forearms, and Clarke will be damned if she lets go, even if she ends up with bloody crescent moon dents there from how hard she’s digging her nails into her own flesh.

The moment she pulls his cock back into her mouth, Bellamy exhales roughly. She can tell by the almost painful hold on her hair and the tension in muscles of his thighs that he’s fighting the urge to thrust into her mouth. Initially she was glad that he was giving her so much leeway with this particular act, but now she wants him to take control back and take her mouth the way he takes her pussy.

He’s much too big for her to take completely but Clarke tries nonetheless. She clamps her lips around the head and slowly lowers her mouth until the crown of his cock nudges the back of her throat. She feels a brief flare of panic as the movement activates her gag reflex but Bellamy’s fist in her hair steadies her.

“Easy baby, breathe through your nose,” he groans, breathing roughly. The quick flash of tightening left his balls aching and his cock throbbing. Primitive as it is, he can’t deny his response to her slight gag.

He guides her movements, raising and lowering her willing mouth on his cock. He’s careful to keep the pace slow so as not to overwhelm her, murmuring soft words of encouragement that make Clarke’s need pulse madly between her legs. He stays at the back of her throat for a couple of seconds every time as she fights the involuntary urge to gag, and she notices that she gets more comfortable with each try.  Feeling him so deep inside her mouth not only becomes easier, it also sends her desire for him into a frenzy.

When Bellamy finally can’t hold it much longer, he pulls out of her mouth, instantly missing the warm wetness there. Clarke looks up at him quizzically, waiting. He tightens the hold on her hair, pulling her head back to expose the long column of her neck and push out her breasts even more. Fisting his cock, it only takes him a couple of strokes to finish, angling it so the thick ropes of his come fall on the tops of Clarke’s exposed breasts.

She pants harshly, the warm stickiness burning like a brand on her skin. His hand, still fisting her hair, guides her up on her knees and Bellamy plants a bruising kiss on her parted lips.

He bites her lip. “Now it’s your turn.”

They don’t sleep much that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooo what did you think? Please let me know, I'm a glutton for comments XD


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is one day late! My dog passed away and I had to deal with some pretty ugly RL situations so my writing time and concentration were affected. 
> 
> I don't get tired of saying this. THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT. There aren't enough words to explain how much it means to me.
> 
> Before you continue reading, this chapter comes with a trigger warning. If you are in any way bothered by period sex, then I urge you to skip that part. I promise it's not gross, there isn't even a mention of blood. Amanda, my wonderful beta who I am eternally grateful for being so patient and generally awesome, told me it's handled well and not gross at all, and she's super smart so if she says it's okay she's probably right. But anyway, if you want to skip that part it's totally fine by me, just make sure you read all the rest XD

Bellamy startles awake, clinging to the furs around him as if they would keep him from falling into the abyss. He pants, shivering involuntarily as the cold sweat on his skin makes contact with the frigid air of the early morning.

He tries to even his breathing and his galloping heart, the nightmare fading as he burrows deeper into the furs. Instinctively, Bellamy reaches for Clarke. When his hand finds a cold empty space beside him he sits up, frowning.

Tenuous light filters through the seams of the tent, indicating it’s still quite early in the morning, earlier even than he usually wakes up. He swings his long legs off the bed and quickly throws on his clothes, frowning at a tear on the inside of his pants. He’ll have to stitch that today, and the hole in his pocket while he’s at it, if he doesn’t want his balls to freeze.

And speaking of pockets…

Bellamy fishes Clarke’s hair string out from where he put it last night, smirking as he remembers the fucking phenomenal blowjob she gave him, and the many different ways in which he thanked her afterwards.

Keeping the string safe in his balled fist, Bellamy exits his tent fully dressed to find Clarke.

* * *

“Miller says you’ve been walking around behind my back when I explicitly told you to rest.”

“Miller has a big mouth.”         

“Raven,” Clarke smiles. “We need you to get better, please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Fine,” she grudgingly agrees. “But I’m sick and tired of staying in bed all day, at least give me something to do.”

“Well we need to establish a secure line to communicate with the Ark’s camp, one we can be sure the Mountain Men can’t tap into,” Clarke suggests.

Raven nods emphatically, the prospect of actually doing something other than stare at the walls incredibly alluring. “Consider it done.”

“And maybe actually tap into one of their frequencies?” Clarke smirks.

Raven smirks back, never one to back down from a challenge. “Monty left some notes on that weird noise he found. I’ll start there.”

“Perfect.”

“So,” Raven sits up, only wincing minutely as the stitches on her back pulled. “Your mom’s alive. That’s… unexpected.”

Clarke turns her eyes away. “To say the least.”

“I’m glad she’s okay,” Raven says. “I know you two have some stuff to work out, but at least you’ll get a chance to talk to her. That’s more than I ever got.”

Before Clarke has a chance to say anything, Abby comes through the door of the drop ship. “Clarke?”

“Yes?” she grits out.

“I just wanted to talk to you for a bit… Hello Raven, how are you? Clarke mentioned last night that you were shot and needed surgery.”

“Yeah, we have a crazy psycho roaming around the woods; be careful when you go out. Clarke here patched me up and soon I’ll be as good as new.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Abby’s smile is warm and genuine, her affection for Raven evident on her face. Clarke turns her face away. As long as she considers her mother in terms of black and white, she can handle being around her. But seeing her like this, caring and affectionate for another person when she’s responsible for Clarke’s whole world collapsing? That she’s a good person and a murderer? That’s – Clarke’s not strong enough to deal with that dichotomy.  

“Why don’t I give you two a moment?” Raven says, glancing from mother to daughter. “I’ll get to work on the coms after I have some breakfast.” Seeing Clarke gearing up to protest as she gingerly stands up, she hurries to continue. “I won’t walk all the way to the communications tent, promise. I’ll get Miller to carry me, he owes me for ratting me out.”

Once Raven leaves, the silence presses down on Clarke, words she imagined herself saying to her mother as she went to sleep every night since she found the truth of her father’s death brimming just under the surface and demanding to be spoken.

“I’m impressed by what you’ve accomplished here,” Abby starts, a tentative smile playing at the corners of her lips. “The camp is far more efficient than I’d imagined. Using the drop ship’s seats as toilets – that’s truly ingenious.”

Clarke tilts her head, looking at her mother through narrowed eyes. “It was a group effort, and you didn’t come here to talk to me about our plumbing system.”

“You’re right,” Abby sputters, taken back. “I just thought – this is very difficult for me. I missed you so much – ”

Clarke takes a big breath through her nose, her jaw locked so tight she fears she might crack her teeth. “You wanted to talk. Let’s talk about how you got Dad killed.”

“I never meant for that to happen, you have to know that,” Abby insists. She moves to hold Clarke’s hand, but she pulls back at the last second. The glare Clarke has fixed on her clearly states she doesn’t want to be touched. “Thelonious was supposed to talk your father out of it, it was never meant to end up this way.”

“But it did!”

Clarke didn’t mean to shout. If there’s one thing she detests, it’s showing her mother this side of her, urgent and hurt and vulnerable. Every hashed breath, every decibel higher than normal her voice goes, un-evens the playing field between them.

“You knew the rules! You had to know there was a good chance Jaha would execute Dad, and you still told him of our plan. He killed Dad, locked me up and then sent me down here to die, and all you can say is it wasn’t meant to end up like this? Well that’s not good enough!”

“Clarke, please, what can I do?”

“How about you apologize? Show a modicum of remorse for your husband’s death?! Better yet, why don’t you gather your stuff and get the hell out from my camp?!”

“Is everything okay?”

Abby and Clarke both jump, turning to see Bellamy standing at the entrance of the drop ship. The protective hand resting on the hatchet threaded through his belt loop doesn’t escape Clarke’s notice, as well as the scowl he has fixed on Abby.

“Just having a conversation with my daughter,” Abby bites out, words dripping venom. “One that doesn’t include you so if you’ll excuse us.”

Clarke’s hand freezes midway through threading her fingers through her loose hair to push it off her face. She gapes at her mother, incredulous. “What is your problem?”

“My – ? Forgive me if I find your willingness to overlook others heinous crimes and not my err in judgment a bit hypocritical.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Clarke states, refusing to justify her actions. Bellamy has earned her trust and respect while her mother has irrevocably lost hers. She doesn’t owe her an explanation.

“Apparently you don’t want to have any conversation.”

“Don’t you dare turn this on me. This is all your fault. You got Dad killed and you don’t deserve my forgiveness.”

“It’s not as simple as that – ”

“IT IS TO ME!”

Bellamy steps to Abby’s side, his boots heavy on the metal floor. “You need to go outside right now.”

“You don’t tell me what to do,” she shrugs him off when he touches her elbow to steer her away. “Who do you think you are?”

“If you don’t leave she’s going to hurt you,” he arches his brow, tilting his head to Clarke’s fuming form. “And I’m not gonna do a fucking thing to stop her.”

Rising shouts from outside interrupt them.

“What now?” Clarke growls, pushing past her mother and marching down the ramp. Bellamy follows her after shooting a glare to Abby.

Outside, the gate is being rolled open. Everyone has stopped what they were doing, the lethargy of sleep dissipating as they gathered in a group before the gate, alert and tense.

Major Byrne is shouting at people to move out of the way, positioning all her men in a defensive stance with their weapons aimed for the gate. The hundred don’t take it well and in turn push back to remain in their spots, causing a scuffle. Kane, on the other hand, is simultaneously shouting orders to the guys opening the gate to stop what they’re doing and to the lookouts to inform him of who has arrived, while they all ignore him. Sterling, perched on his high post, just blinks at him with an unimpressed stare.

Before it can escalate into a full-blown brawl, Bellamy runs to Kane. “Order your men to stand down.”

“We have the situation under control, Blake.”

“No you don’t,” In the distance he locks eyes with Miller who’s carrying Raven bridal style, and sees Clarke in the thick of things, arguing with Major Byrne. “You’re _causing_ the situation in the first place.”

Kane whips around to scowl at him. “Whoever is outside those gates could be dangerous.”

Bellamy struggles to remain calm. “If they were, we wouldn’t be letting them in.”

A shot, and then two others following it in quick succession, crack over the loud shouting, abruptly putting an end to it. Bellamy snaps to attention, frantically searching for the source of the shots and hoping no one has been hurt.

His eyes fall on Clarke plopped on the ground glaring daggers at Byrne who’s slowly lowering her gun from over her head.

He sees white.

Without active thought on his part, his feet quickly take him to Clarke’s side just as Fox is helping her stand up. She mouths ‘I’m okay’ and his eyes easily verify for himself that she’s unharmed. He turns to Byrne.

“Are you fucking _insane?_ ”

She points her gun at him. Out of the corner of his eye Bellamy sees Clarke and the others close in on them and gearing up for a fight. “Put that away,” she bites out, briefly glancing to his right hand.

Confused, Bellamy follows her eyes. That’s when he realizes he’s holding his hatchet in his hand, ready to strike.

“Stand down. All of you,” he growls, raising his weapon before him.

She chuckles darkly. “You are in no position to make such demands. A piece of metal against an automatic rifle, please.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Major Byrne, stand down,” Kane’s voice reaches them, harsh and loud in the tense silence.

The second of distraction is all Bellamy needed. With the flat of his hatchet he hits her hand, making her yelp in pain and loosen her grip on the barrel of her M16. In one fluid motion he grabs the barrel and tugs the rifle out of her hands, pointing the muzzle upward in case she accidentally pulls the trigger. With the weapon in his possession, he’s briefly tempted to turn the tables on her and aim it at her, but instead expertly removes the magazine.  

Bellamy deposits the rifle and magazine in Kane’s arms. “Trigger-happy over there is no longer allowed to carry firearms in my camp, is that clear?”

Kane’s chest puffs out. They stand head to head, the additional inch of height Bellamy has on the man almost inconsequential in the face of his self-righteous fury. “Don’t push me, _janitor_ Blake.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke’s voice penetrates his ringing ears, the small hand curled around his wrist the only thing anchoring him. “Don’t give him the satisfaction. Come on,” she pulls him away from Kane, but not without glaring at the man. “Duncan and the others are back. We need to know what they found out.”

As the whole camp is still gathered around them expectantly witnessing the situation, Clarke seeks out Fox and says loud enough for everyone to hear. “Our guest will be leaving soon, can you please see that they have something to eat before they do?”

“Sure thing, Clarke,” she answers.  With a particularly vicious glare directed at Kane, Abby and Major Byrne, Fox marches away with a few others in tow to fix a meal for the arkers. The rest of the group dissipates as well, grumbling and sneering at the three adults that, in less than one hour, have managed to antagonize their fierce leaders.

“Let’s take this to the drop ship,” Clarke says. Weary and beyond confused by the new arrivals and their clear dislike of Clarke and Bellamy’s status, Duncan, Monroe and Dylan nod and promptly head to the drop ship. Miller makes his way to them, Raven still in his arms. “You two should be there, and Jasper too.”

The boy practically flies across camp to where they are at the mention of his name, a mass of flailing limbs and jittery energy.

“Hold me tighter.  I feel like I’m going to fall,” Raven complains, clinging to Miller’s neck. Miller grumbles and tries to rearrange her limbs to get a better hold of her, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist and the backs of her knees. “Ouch! Gently,” she grits out. All the juggling seems to pull on her stitches.

“Sorry,” Miller pants, laboriously walking up the ramp with her. “This is not as easy as it looks, okay.”

Raven rolls her eyes. “Quit whining. No one’s forcing you to do this.”

“You are!” he cries indignantly. “You said ‘Nathan, you’re my bitch today, catch me’ and then threw yourself at me.”

“Cry me a motherfucking river,” she snorts. Impatient with the torturously slow pace, she swings her legs and wiggles in his arms. “Faster,” she demands.

“You’re fucking heavy. I’m going as fast as I can.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“Shut. Up. _God._ ”    

Their banter continues as they disappear beyond the tarp. Jasper follows them, big grin slapped on his face when he turns to look at Clarke and Bellamy still at the bottom of the ramp. “I call dibs on godfather of their firstborn.”

_“What was that?!”_

“Nothing!”

Bellamy twines his fingers with Clarke’s and gently tugs her along. “Come here.”

Before they can take two steps though, Kane intercepts them. “What is going on?” he demands to know. “Where did those kids come from and why were they alone outside the walls?”

“You’ll know when you need to know,” Clarke attempts to sidestep him but Kane blocks her again.

“You two are way out of your depth,” he says smoothly, pityingly.

Abby hurries to his side. “Now’s not the time, Marcus. I’m sure the kids will tell us what’s going on when they’re ready.”

Studiously ignoring them, but still smarting over their condescending words, Bellamy pulls Clarke behind him passing the ramp and coasting the side of the drop ship.

“Bellamy? What are you doing?” Clarke wonders, confused. “They’re expecting us inside.”

“They can wait five minutes.”

Tucked away behind the drop ship, safely hidden from curious eyes, Bellamy turns an increasingly confused Clarke around to face away from him, his touch lingering on her waist with the soft command to hold still. He digs her string from his pocket and threads his fingers through her hair, pulling the unruly curls back and out of her face. He can’t quite manage the twisty thing she usually does with her hair so he just takes a few tresses from the front and braids them a little bit at the back of her head to hold it all together and ties it off with the string. Clarke progressively relaxes under his soothing touch, and he doesn’t stop combing his fingers through her hair until a soft moan passes her lips.

“Better?”

His deep voice right behind her ear sends waves of electricity through every fiber of her being.  Clarke shivers, letting herself rest against his solid chest for a second. The soft kiss he brushes against her neck is less a surprise, and more a system overload, setting all her nerve endings on fire.

“Yeah. For now,” she sighs. “It’s not even nine am and I’m already done with this day.”

“Don’t let your mother get to you,” Bellamy advises, running his hands down her forearms and rubbing circles on the insides of her elbows. Her thick jacket makes his efforts to soothe her almost useless, but he tries anyway. His lips play with the delicate skin of her neck too, peppering kisses there and tugging the neckline of her shirt down to lick the bite mark he left yesterday in the woods. “They’ll be gone soon.”

Clarke hums, closing her eyes. “Can’t wait. Something else you should know though,” she tilts her head back, giving him a sheepish look. “I got my period this morning.”

His lips pause on her skin for just a second before continuing their ministrations. “Oh.”

“All the girls did, actually. They used our birth control implants to synchronize our cycles when we were in lockup.”

“They did?” Bellamy frowns. “That’s fucked up.” Clarke hums in agreement, sighing when he starts massaging the back of her neck, rubbing small circles with his thumbs. “Do you need anything?”

She cracks one lid open halfway and gives him a quizzical look. “For –? No,” a potent blush spreads across her cheeks. “The Ark didn’t send much with us but all of us girls had our, uh, our cups with us so we’re good.”

Bellamy hides his grin, doubling his efforts to dissolve the knots on her neck. She looks adorable when she’s embarrassed, but Clarke would probably punch him if he ever told her that.

When he considers her to be sufficiently relaxed he steps away, letting her have a moment to gather herself. Then they walk together, side by side but not touching, round the ship and make their way up the ramp.

The others are waiting for them when they get to the drop ship, Raven comfortably reclined against some pillows on her bed and the rest standing around the mock war table with the miniature model of camp.

Duncan wastes no time in debriefing them. They’d found two additional entrances to Mount Weather, one connected to the old underground mining tunnels and password protected, and the other higher up the mountain, opening to what they assume is an old heliport. The second entrance seems to be unused altogether since there was no way to open it from outside.  The only way up is flying or climbing up the mountain, which Monroe and Erys, who stayed behind to keep watch, found to be dangerous without proper equipment.

“And you still did it?  You could’ve gotten yourselves killed,” Clarke frowns.

Monroe visibly shrinks under her eyes like a chastised child. “Erys dared me to do it. I wasn’t going to let that bitch think I was scared.”

Bellamy sighs long-sufferingly while Clarke just shakes her head, disappointed.

The tunnels, however, appeared to have fairly high traffic. The numeric keypad showed signs of being used, the numbers on the buttons mostly faded from being repeatedly punched in. There weren’t cameras down there, but there was a voice transmitter, indicating someone might be operating the door on the other side. They found blood stains on the ground and walls on their way there but when they reached the chamber where the door was located, everything was bleached.

“Reapers use those tunnels,” Clarke says, glancing at Bellamy.

“Maybe Reapers and Mountain Men are one and the same?” Jasper offers.

“The one I saw didn’t look like a Reaper,” Bellamy shakes his head. “What happened to him? To the body?”

It’s almost imperceptible, but Clarke catches the break in his voice, his hesitance. She’s ashamed to admit she forgot all about the man he said he had to kill, distracted by everything else that happened between them. Bellamy hadn’t forgotten though, and despite his best efforts to hide it Clarke has a feeling the death weighs heavily on his conscience.

“They took him inside through the tunnels,” Duncan answers. “That’s the last we saw of them. They stayed inside the whole time.”

“Good job guys. Have some breakfast and then go get some rest, you’ve earned it.”

With parting nods to Bellamy and the rest, Duncan and the other two leave the drop ship.

“You got busted for hacking into the Ark’s communications mainframe, think you can crack the code for the keypad?” Bellamy asks Miller, eyebrow arched high.

He shrugs. “They _should_ have technology similar to what we had access to on the Ark, but I’m gonna need a computer.”

“You hacked the Ark’s mainframe?” Raven eyes Miller quizzically. “What were you looking for?”

“Nudes.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Actually, I was erasing them – ”

“I saw Kane using a tablet last night,” Jasper says loudly, cutting in before the discussion becomes completely derailed. “Think he’ll share?”

The question goes without an answer. If he knew they needed it Kane would hold his access to technology like that as well as firearms over their heads, feeding his power trip as the new Chancellor.

Clarke swallows, sharing a look with Bellamy. “We’ll figure something out.”

Bellamy hums. “So we have a way in but no idea what we’ll find once we get inside. Sounds like a plan,” he says sarcastically.

* * *

The rest of the day is blessedly boring, with only a few altercations between some members of the guard and the appointed lookouts and keepers of the gate. Their intention to take over securing the perimeter was clear, but Bellamy stood firm. This is their camp and his people can handle their own security. He even led a few of the gunners through an archery lesson, covering the basics while Jasper and a small group melted pieces of scrap metal to make more arrowheads.

Clarke found her mother never strayed too far from her, following her as she took care of her different duties. In the end, just to get a respite from her stalking, Clarke locked herself up with Anya with the excuse to check up on her progress and ended up staying for a long while talking to her and revealing some of the information Duncan and the others had provided about Mount Weather. The possible connection between the Mountain Men and the Reapers left Anya dumbfounded.

It wasn’t until the end of the day when the sun was falling on the horizon that Kane came to Bellamy and asked him to gather everyone.

Off to the side and with Bellamy close to her back, Clarke waits with bated breath, her stomach tied in knots.

With the crowd gathered before him, Kane steps up, hand folded behind his back and with Abby supporting him by his side. “We can keep you safe,” he starts. “We have engineers that can make our living arrangements much more comfortable than what you have here. Chancellor Jaha took a chance in sending you down here and the decision weighted heavily on him, but to ensure the survival of human kind sacrifices have to be made. And you beat the odds, you survived when very few of us believed you would,” he nods at Abby, who in turn gives him a small encouraging smile. “Your job is done. Jaha promised all of you your crimes would be forgiven and as the new Chancellor I intend to keep that promise. Whatever your crimes were on the Ark, big or small, each and every one of you are pardoned. If you follow me back to our camp, you can be safe and we can find a suitable new place for you in our society.”

There’s a moment of silence where Clarke fears they’ll do as Kane asked and follow him and her mother. She stares at blank faces, all intent on Kane and still processing his words. These are all still teenagers, she has to remind herself. The lure of security and lifting the responsibility of surviving off their shoulders is understandably appealing to them.

Behind her, Bellamy is stiff as a rock, and she doesn’t think he’s taken a full breath since Kane started his speech. Like her, he’s waiting for the worst to happen and wondering, _then what?_

She reaches her hand around her back and threads her fingers through his, holding tightly. He squeezes back, and with that small gesture, the breath she didn’t know she was holding rushed out of her.

And then it happens. A voice from the crowd she can’t quite identify speaks up with a conviction almost incongruous with their young age, but directly proportional to the trials of survival they’ve endured and come out of the victors. “We’re _not_ criminals!”

The crowd roars in agreement. “This is our home!” Another voice cries. They turn their backs as one and separate to attend to their assigned chores to begin the dinner preparations, leaving Kane and Abby behind, speechless.

“Well,” Bellamy grins. “Guess that answers your question.”

Clarke laughs, experiencing a joy she’s very unfamiliar with. It’s different from the exhilaration of her first kiss, the heart-stopping assault of beauty found in the glow of the dark forest, the mind-numbing touch of a lover or the rush of power coursing through her veins when she first pulled the trigger of a gun. This is the joy of home, of a family that chooses you and fights for you.

“It answers nothing,” Kane denies, the coldness of his eyes rivaling the chill of the air. “They’re just a bunch of kids under the age of majority and therefore unable to make their own decisions.”

“What?”

Clarke’s heartbeat increases. She glances at Bellamy. She’s never heard his Bellamy’s voice quite like that before, so low and terrifying. Instinctively, she clings to his hand tighter.

“We will allow you to continue as you were, since you’re so adamant about staying in your ‘home’,” Kane sneers. “But under our direct command. Abby will stay here with a guard unit to keep an eye on things while I go back to our camp.”

“No,” Clarke protests.

“The decision’s been made.”

“You want to overstay your welcome, fine,” Bellamy grits out. Clarke stares at him, shocked that he would concede so easily. “But make your own fucking tents and find your own food. Get moving. Looks like it’s going to rain tonight.”

With that, he leads Clarke away from them, his hand a solid and comforting presence at the small of her back.

“What the hell was that?” she whisper-shouts angrily.

“We need a computer,” Bellamy says simply.

Clarke sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Right.”

His gaze speaks volumes to her when he peers into her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m – no. No, I’m not okay,” Clarke admits, visibly deflating. “Can we get out of here? I just really need to not be here with my mother for a while.”

Bellamy nods. “We can go to the stream. No one will bother us there.”

“I’ll get some blankets,” Clarke offers.

Fifteen minutes later they’ve settled by the shore on a few blankets, Clarke laboring over a fire and Bellamy skinning the rabbit he caught on the way for their dinner. She complimented him on his improving aim when he managed to put an arrow on it even as it ran away from them, and in the same breath told him to stop showing off.

They leave the meat cooking over the roaring fire and Bellamy convinces Clarke to let him teach her how to swim. The lesson goes well enough even if she spends eighty per cent of the time clinging to him and she jokingly accuses him of using it as an excuse to feel her up.

“Like I need one,” Bellamy smirks, shamelessly palming the generous curve of her ass.

“Stop that!” Clarke laughs, pushing away from him and wading like he taught her in the tepid water. Bellamy follows her, wrapping his arms around her waist and unceremoniously tossing her up and to the side as she laughs and screams before disappearing beneath the water. He’s there to pull her out too, pulling her flush against him. Her legs lock around his waist instinctively, and his arousal is patently evident to her. Clarke groans, closing her eyes and fighting the urge to rub herself against him. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Told you. I’m on my period.”

“So? We’re in water,” Bellamy grips her hips and thrusts against her. His hardness slides between her moist folds bumping against her clit.

“You seriously don’t care?” she asks, stunned. He buries his face against her neck and shakes his head, his short stubble rasping her sensitive skin. “How are you so cool about this whole thing? My dad was mortified whenever he tried to talk to me about it and Wells preferred to pretend it wasn’t something that happened like, at all.”

“I have a sister,” he reminds her, needlessly. “There was only me and my mom when she was growing up so yeah, I was pretty involved. I also helped my mother give birth.”

“Ew, really?”

“Yeah I don’t particularly like to think about it _at all_ , but especially not now,” he whispers, walking against the current to the smooth rock formation farther upstream. The rocking movement felt fabulous against her aroused flesh.

“Yeah, let’s not talk about your mom right now,” Clarke moans, missing the contact when he sets her on a large boulder about a foot under the surface.

His lips do a good job of distracting her from his wandering hands, pulling her into a ravenous kiss. She tenses when his fingers softly touch her between the legs, still a bit apprehensive, but doesn’t fight him or move away.

“You’re so warm. Swollen too,” Bellamy growls in between biting kisses. “Tell me if I’m too rough.”

If anything, he’s infuriatingly gentle. He pays a lot of attention to her clit, rubbing gentle circles around it, flicking it from side to side, dragging the hood up to expose her pearl and softly massaging it. He circles her entrance before pushing a lone finger inside, thrusting in and out slowly. He’s using his string hand too, and the new callouses there awaken pleasure points inside her she doesn’t recognize.

“You can come all you want tonight princess, you deserve it.”

Clarke shudders, automatically pulsing around his finger. He continues fucking her like that as she rides her first orgasm and launches into a second one before she even knows it. Bellamy pushes a second finger inside her as he covers one breast with long licks of his tongue and gently kneads the other one. He changes the pace, no longer sliding his fingers in and out, but curling them deep inside her instead, repeatedly stimulating the rough patch of nerves at the end of her channel and simultaneously rubbing his thumb directly over her clit.

She comes crashing down with a scream that suspiciously sounds like his name. Her body is limp and sated when he turns her around, the tips of her toes digging into the sand at the bottom of the stream and bent at the waist over the large boulder.

Bellamy drives his cock slowly inside her pussy. She’s so warm and swollen she wraps around him like a vice, creating maddening friction when he retracts and then sinks deeply back in. The pressure of the rock against her pubic bone, the weight of his cock inside her, the water lapping like hundreds of tongues at her oversensitive breasts, it’s all too much and Clarke climaxes one more time. She clamps almost painfully around his cock, her walls closing in on his pulsing, steely flesh.

He stays inside her for a long time, both of them panting. His softening cock is still quite impressive and Clarke can’t help but wish he could stay inside her longer. She winces when he slides out though, muscles unused for too long that now are getting a daily workout protesting half-heartedly.

Bellamy brushes a kiss between her shoulder blades. “What was that? Four?”

She delivers a stinging slap on his firm ass, effectively exhausting what little energy she had left. So what if he has every right to be smug.

He chuckles. “So you _are_ into spanking,” his big palm falls heavily on the underside of her ass. The sting only lasts a second, leaving a burning sensation on its wake. “I had my suspicions. We’ll have to revisit that later. I can probably make you come another time if you want.”

Clarke whines. “Please don’t. I might pass out.”

“Then I guess it’s time for dinner.”

They wolf down their food. Clarke remembers that night long ago when she shared a piece of meat with Finn, how daintily she’d nibbled on it, both because being so near to him made her nervous and because the food itself was a shock to her senses. And now look at her, sinking her teeth into the meat with gusto and so at ease with the company she doesn’t think it twice before licking her fingers.

His eyes follow the movement filled with a hunger that can’t be quenched by the tender rabbit they’re sharing. For a moment she thinks he’s going to pull her to her knees for a repeat of last night and almost hopes her does, but when they’re done eating all Bellamy does is rest on his back on the blanket, dragging her with him. Clarke curls on his side, resting her head comfortably on his shoulder and staring up at the stars peaking between the stormy clouds.

“Had a nightmare last night,” Bellamy says after a while, softly. “About the mountain man – the one I killed.”

She turns her face to him, the storm forming above nothing compared to the tumultuous clouds in his dark eyes.

“Was there any other way, other than killing him I mean?”

He frowns, considering her question. “Could’ve knocked him out, but when he woke up he would’ve alerted his people. Follow us, kill Finn and Monty,” he swallows. “Bringing him here would fly a huge fucking red flag, the Mountain Men would know someone took him.”

“So you did the best you could under the circumstances.” Clarke pushes herself up on her elbow, looking down at him. “It was an impossible choice but you made it and you kept all of us safe. I killed a grounder when I tried to escape their camp. I slit his throat when he was distracted, and it was all for nothing because in the end they caught me again.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Bellamy growls, cupping the back of her neck.

She traces the fading bruises on his neck, then slowly lowers her lips to his for an unhurried kiss.

They stay like that until the sky lights up above them and thunder shakes the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a comment, I LOVE talking to you guys and your feedback is the best part of my day XD


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay! Sadly Wednesday updates don't work for me anymore, so look for new chapters on Fridays or Saturdays from now on please.
> 
> I want to thank you all again for how encouraging and understanding you were about my dog. You are all wonderful and I am just so blown away by you support of this story. Every comment, kudos and just knowing people out there are reading this fills me with joy. I'll never get tired of saying this but thank you.
> 
> Also huge thanks to Amanda for being the world's best beta. I drove her crazy this week with long ass emails and repeatedly forgetting to attach the chapter.
> 
> Now before I let you guys to the fun part, please notice I've added some new tags to this story. If any of it bothers you, read carefully.

Bellamy paces in front of a line of five people spaced out comfortably, his hands clasped behind his back as his shrewd eyes inspect the stances of his students. “Place your feet shoulder-width apart and direct your shoulder to the target. Try not to tense up. If you do, you’ll mess up your shot. Jasper, hips,” he points out and the boy immediately shifts his stance so that his hips are perpendicular to the target.

He’s been leading all his former gunners through archery lessons for the past week. The process is slow and torturous, since he has to keep the classes small. In groups of five, he teaches them what he already learned on his own. Once he’s confident a group has grasped the basics and is sufficiently skilled to continue on their own, he sets them up with fixed targets to improve their aim.  When they have that down to pat he sends them out the gates to hunt armed only with their bows and arrows.

The motivation is clear. Hone their new skills or there won’t be enough food to go around. Much like when they’d first ventured out those first days after landing and they had to learn to provide for themselves armed only with rustic spears and knives, their determination drives them to make progress quickly.

“Now nock your arrows.”

Following his instructions, they point their bow towards the ground and place the shaft of the arrows on the arrow rest. With varying degrees of difficulty they attach the back of the arrow to the bow string with the nock.

“Remember only one of the feathers should be pointing away from the bow,” he instructs arching his brow to Harper who immediately apologizes and corrects her arrow.

A few feet away, lounging on the tree stumps that pass as chairs, Major Byrne and two members of the guard snicker, watching the lesson with increasing amusement. Bellamy tries to ignore them. They’ve been like this all week and he’s quite fucking familiar with the drill. He doesn’t know what they find most amusing though, that a former janitor is the de facto leader of a teenage militia or that their arsenal consists of Paleolithic weapons compared to the guards’ semiautomatics.

It was a point of conflict between them. Kane had not only brought enough weapons and ammo from the Ark to arm a small army, he also sent a scouting party to the old supply depot Clarke and Bellamy had inspected and found two additional barrels full of guns and another with bullets they completely missed. Yet despite the fact that there was enough to go around, Kane categorically refused to issue firearms to a ‘bunch of kids’. There was a big blow-out before the man left the camp where Bellamy argued intensely and demanded Kane, at the very least, give them ammo for the guns they already had. He continued to do so every night through the radio when he debriefed the chancellor but Kane remained unwavering in his decision.

Thus, only Byrne and the guards were allowed to carry firearms and they lorded that fact over the camper’s heads every chance they got. Bellamy tries not to let it upset him too much, and in turn flaunts their copious food and superior shelter in front of the arkers.

Miller walks up to him. “The hunting party just returned,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches their friends correctly position their arrows.

“So soon?”

“Liam tripped and hurt his ankle. They brought two deer and three fat pheasants though.”

“Nice. Three fingers on the string,” Bellamy calls out to the archers. “Index above and the middle and ring finger below the arrow.”

“The virus is almost ready,” Miller whispers. “I just need to make some tweaks and we’re good to go.”

Bellamy nods. Their plan of having Miller hack the code of the keypad of Mount Weather had evolved and now before actually trying to break in, they were planning to infect the Mountain Men’s severs with a Trojan and get as much information on them as possible before attacking. Miller had assured them that he could create something of a super virus that would give them full access to the mountain’s server without leaving a trace of their activities. All their digital files would be accessible as well as their communications and security mainframe.

“Good. Now raise the bow and draw back.”

Jasper’s fingers slip on the string and it hits the side of his jaw with a loud snap and a painful cry from his part. Harper has a hard time holding the arrow and so nearly gouges her eye out with the end of it. The other three managed to draw back successfully but one releases the arrow without aiming and it sails through the air in a wide arch before planting itself at the feet of Abby Griffin. The guards dissolve in laughter.

“Jesus,” Bellamy sighs long-sufferingly, rubbing a hand through his tired face. “Sorry Dr. Griffin!” he calls out to the scowling woman. She still hasn’t forgiven him for nearly piercing her skull with an arrow and corrupting her daughter. The last thing he needs is Clarke’s mother thinking he’s using her for target practice. “Dylan, go pick that up and apologize to the lady.”

Olive skin turned a unbecoming red, and followed by the snickering chorus of Major Byrne and the other guards, Dylan marches up to Abby with his head held high, ducking his head and apologizing with a low voice. Abby smiles at him and then offers Bellamy a tentative, well it’s not a smile per se, but it’s definitely in that territory. It’s not a glare or a frown so yeah. Progress.

“Sons of bitches,” Miller curses under his breath, glaring at Byrne and the other guards. “To think I wanted to be one of them growing up.”

Bellamy smiles wryly. “You and me both. Come on guys! One more time!” he claps his hands and Jasper and the other four go back through the motions, this time more fluidly.

* * *

“Well you definitely sprained it,” Clarke determines, gingerly poking Liam’s swollen ankle. “It’s pretty minor considering, but you’re going to need to take it easy for a few days. You were in Monroe’s hunting group, correct?” she asks with a kind smile. Liam nods. “Take the rest of the day off, keep your foot elevated and report to Arden tomorrow. You can fish sitting down.”

She finishes wrapping his ankle tightly, the ever irritating presence of her mother hovering over her shoulder.

“He should stay completely off his feet for ten days at the very least,” Abby offers. “I’m sure the others can manage without him for a few days.”

“Huh,” Liam glances from Abby to Clarke, the panic of being stuck in an argument between the two of them patent on his face.

Clarke takes a big, cleansing breath. “No, they can’t,” she states through gritted teeth.

Abby tilts her head to the side, looking at her daughter like she’s being unreasonable. “It will only hinder his recovery. You know that.”

Beneath her cool exterior, Clarke seethes. Ideally, yes, Liam should be restricted to his bed and stay off his foot until it heals completely. Ideally, Clarke should’ve wrapped his ankle with elastic wrap instead of with a piece of parachute. Ideally, she should give him something for the tremendous pain she knows he’s in but is too proud to let show.

But that’s not how things work around here. Her mother has been on her ass all week about her apparent medical shortcomings and Clarke has consistently, patiently ignored it in an effort to avoid another confrontation with her since that first day, both for the sake of her own peace of mind and because like it or not, Abby has been ready to lend a hand every time it was needed. She’s helped upgrade Clarke’s medicinal herbs collection because unlike her, Abby aced botany when she was a student, and even went so far as to browbeat Kane into sharing some of their medical supplies.

It all adds up to Abby trying to buy Clarke’s forgiveness and Clarke is well aware of her motivations. She also knows she can’t turn her nose when help is offered, especially when it could mean the difference between life and death. So she hates it, hates having her mother around, being kind and approachable and providing supplies they desperately need. She hates that Abby can give her people things she cannot, and hates herself for being so ungrateful.

She hates that Abby is making it very difficult to stay actively mad at her when Clarke’s heart is still broken. That she can’t snap and yell at her when Abby’s seducing her with stitching material and antiseptics.

With a calculated roll of her neck to ease some of the tension there, Clarke smiles at Liam. “Off you go. Fox?” the young girl swirls around from where she was pouring moonshine from a large vase into smaller bottles. “Could you please help him out and see that he’s seated somewhere?”

“Yeah. C’mon Liam,” she hooks his arm over her shoulders and helps him slip down the examination table to the floor, supporting his weight with his good foot.

“Thanks Clarke,” Liam smiles at her, squeezing her hand as he passes her before gingerly jumping out of the drop ship with Fox.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done to help around here,” Clarke says tightly once she and Abby are alone. “But please don’t contradict me like that in front of my patients.”

“I was just lending my medical expertise,” Abby says, her brow knitting delicately, like she’s confused as to the source of Clarke’s irritation.

“And like I said I appreciate it. But I can’t just bench anyone who’s hurt, we don’t have that luxury. Winter is coming and we need all the help we can get to prepare ourselves.”

“Even at the expense of that poor boy?”

“We have to make compromises to survive. I learned that from _you_ ,” Clarke replies, barely holding back a sneer.

Right then, Bellamy flips open the tarp and enters the drop ship. His hand hides half of his face, blood seeping through his fingers. The side of his neck and his shirt are also stained with fresh blood. “Hey. Sorry to interrupt.”

All air leaves Clarke’s lungs. She’s in front of him and tugging his hand away before she can form a rational thought. “What the _fuck_ happened to your face?” she all but screams.

“Bow string was worn and severed when I drew back,” he winces. There’s a long cut over his right cheekbone. A couple of inches and he could’ve lost an eye.

“You’re going to need stitches. Come on,” she snaps, dragging him to the examination table by the hand.

“Here you go,” Abby leaves a suture kit on the table beside Bellamy. Clarke swallows and nods in thanks. That kit was part of the medical supplies her mother graciously gave them from the Ark’s own scarce resources. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

Clarke just hums, still frowning at the bloody gash on Bellamy’s face.

“What were you even doing with a bow? I thought you were just teaching the others,” she says, cleaning the wound with a cloth.

“Jasper was having trouble so I decided to show him how it’s done.”

“I’m sure he learned a lot,” she says sarcastically, pressing the cloth damp with moonshine to the wound without warning. “Didn’t you think to check the bow was in working condition _before_ you used it? Jesus, Bellamy.”

“Hey. It was an accident.”

“Well that accident nearly cost you an eye. How could you be so reckless? We’re under enough pressure as it is, you can’t pull this kind of stunt.”

“Okay, you need to calm down. The fuck’s the matter with you?”

“My problem is we have Kane and my mother breathing down our backs, we can’t afford to be careless and hope to maintain control of this camp.”

Bellamy sighs, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. “I’m sorry I got hurt okay, it wasn’t on purpose.”

Clarke shrugs him off. “The slightest mistake can get us demoted and this whole camp dismantled,” she continues cleaning the wound until she’s sure not a speck of dirt is inside it. “You need to _think_ , Bellamy.”

“I told you it was an accident – ”

“Which you should’ve anticipated!”

“If you’re gonna be like this…” Bellamy pushes himself off the table and brushes past her, grabbing the suture kit. “I can do my own stitches.”

“Fine by me,” Clarke sneers. “I have more important things to do anyway.”

With that she storms away, leaving Bellamy frowning worriedly at her back.

* * *

The flames flicker before her unfocused eyes, a blurry dance that makes bright spots appear before her distracted gaze and fails to drag her thoughts from the tall, dark form sitting on the other side of the campfire.

So he could do his own stitches, Clarke thinks wrily. They're not as neat as hers though, not by a long shot. She'd be tempted to add another one just to be safe if she wasn't still so irrationally angry at him.

“I said, are you going to finish that?”

“Huh?” Clarke snaps to attention as Raven carefully sits down on the tree stump beside her.

“Where’s your head tonight?” Raven asks, taking the abandoned piece of pheasant from Clarke’s hand. She digs her teeth on the tender meat, chewing slowly. Her gaze follows Clarke’s across the campfire. “Never mind,” she snickers.

Clarke curls her lips downward and shifts in her sit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So why did you fight? Did he not return the favor after you blew him?”

“Raven!”

“I would be pissed.”

“Please stop.”

“You know he offered to go down on me that one time we fucked,” Raven says offhandedly, licking the meat juice off her fingers. “I said no. After hearing your screams I can recognize I am without a doubt a fucking moron.”

“Ugh,” Clarke buries her face on her knees, ears burning with embarrassment.

“Just don’t go to bed angry. I hear that’s bad for couples.”

“We are _not_ a couple,” Clarke clarifies, glaring at her friend.

“Right,” Raven smirks, drawing out the word annoyingly.

“And I’m not sleeping with him tonight.”

Raven rolls her eyes. “Where are you gonna crash? You don’t have a tent.”

“I’ll figure something out,” Clarke says, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Maybe your mom can make room for you on her tent. Major Byrne won’t mind, you three can have a sleepover!” Raven exclaims with an uncalled for dose of excitement.

“I hate you,” Clarke groans, standing up and waving Raven goodbye.

No one is supposed to sleep on the drop ship, but Raven’s old pallet is still there so Clarke gets cozy and tries to relax enough to fall asleep. The straw and dry leaves mattress is too hard and she can feel several lumps digging uncomfortably into her back. The spare blanket she has is also not enough to keep the chill of the night at bay. Too accustomed to sleeping wrapped around a living furnace, Clarke hugs herself trying to generate some warmth.

Her attempts are to no avail. She shivers, curled into a ball under the thin blanket with her eyes stubbornly shut.

Heavy steps she’s disgustingly familiar with herald the arrival of the second to last person she wants to see right now.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bellamy asks.

“Sleeping,” Clarke says, refusing to open her eyes.

She can practically see him roll his eyes. “You’re being ridiculous. Come back to our tent.”

“I’m fine where I am, thank you.”

Clarke rolls on her side turning her back on him, naively expecting Bellamy to give up and go away.

His long-suffering sigh is the only warning she gets before his arms close around her and lift her up on a fireman’s carry. He plops her onto his shoulder, knocking the air out of her lungs.

“What the hell are you doing?” she cries.

“You know the rules. No one sleeps inside the drop ship unless it’s a medical emergency,” he says making his way easily down the ramp with the added weight of her body. “It’s not fair you get to sleep there while everyone else has to stay in a tent.”

“I don’t have a tent.”

His step falters. Clarke files that detail for later analysis. “You _do_.”

“Put me down.”

“No.”

“Everyone is staring at us,” she whisper-shouts.

“So?”

“So I’m over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes with my ass in the air. _Put me down_.”

When he says nothing a rage takes over Clarke.

“Red. _Red_. Red!”

If anyone finds odd that she would scream a color to him like it's the most vicious curse, they don't say anything or try to interfere.

Bellamy groans. “That’s not how the safe word works princess.”

He completely ignores her further complaints until he reaches the edge of the camp. Unlike his waking hours when he’s always in the thick of things and involved on everything that happens, when it’s time to retire he prefers to be as far removed from the center of the camp as possible. There's far too much movement in the drop ship area, with the heavily guarded gate and the patrols changing shifts there, so he set up his tent at the far edge of camp. He used to have lots of neighbors, most of them girls originally, but as it became clear he and Clarke were having more than late night meetings and the noises coming from their tent disturbed their closest neighbors, everyone within twenty feet of them decided to pack up and move as far away as possible.

Now Bellamy’s tent stands blessedly isolated from the camp proper.

He only puts her down when he’s inside the tent, the soft light of the torch staked on the ground flickering with the sudden rush of breeze before he closes the flap.

“You left my boots in the drop ship,” Clarke frowns, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Then you won’t be going outside, will you,” Bellamy says flatly. “Now can you please stop acting like a crazy person and tell me what the fuck is going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Really. Cause you went off on me earlier for no good reason and then avoided me the rest of the day," Bellamy shrugs off his jacket, eyes hard on Clarke.

"Maybe I just needed some space, didn't you consider that?"

"You can have all the space you want, you don't have to pick a fight with me to do that."

She detects an honest edge of hurt in his voice, giving her pause. "I didn't pick a fight on purpose. I was understandably mad that you got hurt."

Bellamy shakes his head, hands balled at his hips. "I think you’re really pissed at your mother and taking it out on me, and it's not fair. I don't deserve that.”

Her jaw juts out, the stubborn line no less delicate. "You're wrong."

"Am I? You've been gearing for a fight with her all week."

"I have been nothing but accommodating!” she snaps. “Day in and day out I have to deal with her and swallow the vile I feel every time I see her!" Clarke advances on him poking his chest with her finger. "I had to _thank_ her, my father's murderer, for all the things she's giving us. Do you have _any_ idea how dirty that makes me feel?!"

When the first drop splashes over her cheek Clarke wipes it away, annoyed and looking for the source of the water, thinking there might be a leak on the tents roof. But another one lands on her cheek and the tips of her fingers are wet where they touch the delicate skin under her eyes.

Bellamy's hands settle on top of her shoulders. At the contact the knot around her throat releases its choke hold and a pitiful sob claws its way out.

The waterfall of tears obscures her vision. "I feel this rage inside me every time I look at her," she sobs. "She killed my dad, and I still love her," Clarke confesses, burying her face in Bellamy's chest to hide her shame.

His arms lock around her, embracing her tightly and nearly doubling over to completely embrace Clarke's body. He rocks them, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as gut wrenching sobs shake her.

"Say the word and she's gone. I'll personally drag her back to Camp Jaha," Bellamy rasps.

Clarke shakes her head. Her arms go around Bellamy's waist, the comforting scent of him enveloping her. "I need to learn to live with her."

She lifts her face toward him. “I'm sorry I was such a bitch to you today. I was upset you got hurt," she clarifies hurriedly. "But I overreacted,” Clarke admits with a sheepish smile. "I understand if you're mad."

Bellamy shakes his head, cupping her face with his hand and rubbing soft circles with his thumb over the apple of her cheek. "M'not mad. But I do think you've earned a punishment."

They've talked about this. That night at the stream, he promised they would revisit the matter of spanking, and during this past week they touched on the subject of erotic pain here and there. Clarke was definitely interested and willing to give it a shot, particularly after Bellamy gave her a few loving pats while she was blowing him. She painted a wanton picture that night, taking him deep in her mouth while his hand fell over the slope of her ass, squirming at the warmth of the contact. She’d come near to climaxing without his even touching her intimately.

They also discussed the possibility of incorporating erotic discipline to their arrangement. Bellamy assured her it wasn't necessarily a part of every Dom/sub relationship, but that if it was something she wanted to experiment with he would gladly oblige her. He warned her there was a difference between discipline spanking and erotic spanking. It would take things between them to a whole other level though, so Bellamy was very clear the decision was up to her.

Clarke bites her lip. “I can still use my safe word right? If it's too much...”

“Of course. I want to discipline you, not abuse you.”

She lets out a shaky breath. “Okay then. How does it work?”

“Since it’s your first punishment, I’ll go easy on you. We’ll start with five smacks for using me as a metaphorical punching bag, and three more for every time you deliberately pissed me off today.”

Making a mental count and reaching the reasonable amount of eight smacks total, Clarke nods. She can handle that. No matter how angry she made him today, Clarke knows Bellamy would never truly hurt her.

“So we have five, plus three for ignoring me and avoiding me all day. Three more for attempting to sleep in the drop ship and making me drag you here. Another three for using your safe word when you knew you weren’t supposed to, three for telling Jasper my stiches are crooked - yes he told me, don't look so surprised - and lastly, three for lying to my face just now when I asked you what was wrong,” Bellamy recites, ticking fingers off as her announced her offences. “How many is that?”

Clarke pales. “Twenty.”

“Twenty,” Bellamy repeats, eyes fixed on her. “Strip.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. They’ve been sleeping together for almost two weeks now, there’s no room for embarrassment between them anymore. Clarke disrobes quickly, folding her clothes and placing them neatly over the table, a rush of exhilaration shocking her system as she felt his dark eyes following her precise movements. He undresses as well, unhurriedly, as Clarke stands naked awaiting his orders, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Once he’s fully naked, Bellamy sits down on the bed and gestures for her to come closer. He bends her over his knees, placing a hand on the small of her back to rub small circles at the base of her spine, the other laid gently over the slope of her perfect ass. Her luscious cheeks are unmarred, silky smooth under his calloused hands. Clarke whimpers, wiggling a little on his lap. Her left hip presses firmly against Bellamy’s aching cock as he helps her settle into position, resting her upper body flat on the straw mattress and her chin on her forearms.

Bellamy can’t help but caress her naked backside for a moment. This is supposed to be a punishment, yes, and technically it shouldn’t be _fun_ , but it’s the first time they’re really experimenting with this so a bit of leeway isn’t going to hurt. They can both enjoy it. He gently squeezes, circling his hand around in a wide caress.

Feeling his rock hard cock twitch against her hip, heat pools between Clarke’s legs as her heartbeat deafens her.

The first blow comes a second after he raises his hand from her ass, not giving Clarke time to anticipate it or tense up her muscles before it lands heavily on her right cheek. Her skin stings from the slap, her lame whimper giving way to a surprised scream when his hand comes down once more, this time to deliver the stinging punishment on her left cheek.

This is distinctively different to the previous time Bellamy spanked her. Then, he’d eased into it and in truth Clarke had barely felt the first few smacks. She’d been more preoccupied with lavishing his cock with her attention but she couldn’t deny that his heavy hand on her bottom had stoked the flames of her desire.

Now – it hurts. Right from the beginning, Bellamy keeps the same steady but unforgiving pace. His palm falls over and over with a loud crack tearing little cries from her throat and rapidly setting the tender flesh of her backside on fire. Wetness gathers at the corners of her eyes even as Clarke lifts her ass higher anticipating every blow.

Smack after smack rains down on her ass, alternating between each of her pinking cheeks. Bellamy’s palm tingles wildly every time he lifts it in the air, each smack and every single one of Clarke’s pained mewls going straight to his throbbing cock.

He spanks both cheeks, from the top of the rise of the globes to the tender underside, not focusing on a single spot so as not to cause her unnecessary damage.

As she reaches the count of ten smacks, an odd, cleansing feeling bubbles inside Clarke’s chest. She lets it wash over her with a sob as a familiar warmth spreads through her licking at her core. She snuggles closer to Bellamy, hugging his legs and pressing her face to his warm skin as the loud crack of her punishment fills the silence of the tent and unlocks the tension that’s been building inside her for days.

Once the twenty smacks are delivered, Bellamy lays his hand gently on her bright red ass, the heat emanating from it equal only to the sting of his own palm.

He rubs up and down her spine until Clarke’s sobs morph into little breathless moans. With his other hand Bellamy slowly caresses the reddened cheeks, the tops of her thighs and finally the seam of her burning pussy.

Her legs fall open immediately with a broken sigh. With a groan Bellamy’s hand cradles her cunt, feeling her swollen clit and wet folds. Clarke squirms, trying desperately to grind herself back against his hand.

“Come for me,” Bellamy orders harshly, pressing against her clit and rubbing circles around it. “ _Now_.”

With a strangled cry, Clarke thrashes over him, a new rush of wet heat bathing Bellamy’s fingers.

He lets her ride it out, his hand still gently caressing up and down her spine. He takes big breathes to control his own raging hard on, but the heady scent of her arousal saturating his brain is not helping matters.

After a few moments, Bellamy pulls Clarke up, her body heavy with blissed lethargy. She wraps her arms around his neck, her tear-stained face dropping to his shoulder as he arranges her legs to straddle him. The head of his cock entering her makes her whimper.

“You thought I was done with you?” Bellamy growls, lowering her fully over his cock until the tip of it kisses the mouth of her womb.

Clarke bites her lip and cross her ankles at the small of his back.

He controls her movements, gripping her hips securely. Clarke lets herself be taken; the wonderful sensation of Bellamy’s cock stretching her to the limit, driving in and out of her with a force beyond her control, is enough to build up another orgasm within her. Her ass cheeks and the back of her legs rub against Bellamy’s thighs, the coarse hair there irritating her sensitive flesh. She moans, pants, tethered on the edge, riding the agony between pleasure and pain.

Bellamy slaps his hands on the generous globes of her ass, holding her tight and guiding her movements from there. A yelp breathes through Clarke’s lips as her walls clamp impossibly tight around his cock.

“Kiss me.”

It’s both an order and a plea, and Clarke’s too far gone to analyze the hint of begging in Bellamy’s tone, or what it could mean. She just blindly complies and brushes her lips against his, satisfying both his request and her burning desire to have him closer.

Unintelligible words trip past his lips and into her mouth as they come undone together.

Afterwards, Bellamy maps her burning bottom with soft kisses and arranges Clarke on top of him to keep the pressure off her pained flesh, resting comfortably between his open legs and with her head placed on the middle of his chest. His arms envelop her in a warm, loose embrace.

He falls asleep quickly, sated, yet Clarke remains awake for a long time, the steady beat of his heart and a thousand thoughts swimming in her head keeping her company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? How do you feel about this new development? Don't be too hard on Clarke she has a lot on her mind and dealing with a parent you've a complicated relationship with leaves the best of us in a very dark place and taking it out on the people closest to us.
> 
> Please leave a comment, I love hearing from you!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, terribly sorry for the long wait. December was all sorts of crazy between work and the holidays and then I went on vacation so I didn't have the opportunity to post this earlier. 
> 
> I want to thank you all for all the lovely comments you left. When I logged in today I found 87 messages in my in-box, I am speechless! I didn't even finish replying to all of them, but I will I promise ^_^
> 
> As always, many, many thanks to Amanda, my editing goddess, may you always be around to fix my grammar and provide relentless support.

Clarke lingers in the limbo between slumber and consciousness, smiling contentedly and snuggling closer to the human furnace she’s partly laying over. The chill of the morning tickles her exposed back above the arm wrapped around her waist where Bellamy’s warmth doesn’t reach her. She reaches back with her hand to pull the furs over them. Bellamy stirs slightly in his sleep, his big hand instinctively caressing her back before settling heavily between her shoulder blades.

She cracks open an eye and studies his sleeping form. In repose, all the lines ebb away from his face. When awake, Bellamy Blake is a study in varying degrees of scowls and glares with the occasional smirk that hides a smile. He is fierce and proud. But like this, with his curly hair in wild disarray that she helped create and his parted lips just inches from her forehead, breathing even little puffs of air that tickle her brow, he looks as young and as vulnerable as he’ll never let himself be seen.

Clarke bites her lip, sinking her teeth into the plump flesh as she buries her nose in the crook of his neck and lets her hand travel the distance from his chest to his lower abdomen. She only hesitates for a second when the rough patch of hair tickles her fingers, but continues and curls her hand around his semi hard shaft.

Bellamy inhales deeply but doesn’t stir. Smiling wickedly, Clarke slowly pumps his cock. It becomes more rigid in her hand, growing larger and thicker. She marvels at the feeling of silky skin over steely hardness. His cock sits heavily in her hand and much like when she takes him in her mouth she can’t help but think about how he feels when he’s inside her pussy. Squirming, Clarke hitches her leg higher where it’s resting across Bellamy’s legs, shamelessly rubbing herself on his muscled thigh.

Her hand trails to the base of his cock and then to the tip. The contrasts between them fascinate her. Where her skin is light and cool, his is dark and warm. Where she’s soft, he’s rough and _hard_.

Her lips map the tendons of his neck, feeling him swallow and his breathing increase. When her tongue darts out to tease the underside of his jaw and her hand rolls his heavy balls, Bellamy’s arm tightens around her and he comes awake with a guttural groan that pulls right at the strings of her desire.

“I could get used to waking up like this,” he rasps, his heavy lidded eyes cloudy with the remnants of sleep and boring into hers. His hand gently pushes her hair out of her face, combing it back with his fingers. He cups her jaw and tilts it up for a brief touch of lips. “Morning.”

Clarke hums, chasing his lips and deepening the kiss. She feels his smile against her mouth and they clumsily engage in an unhurried battle of lips, teeth biting and tongues dancing tirelessly. The hand on her jaw supports her, his thumb rubbing softly where her cheek meets her ear.

Bellamy’s cock twitches against his lower abdomen. Clarke’s fingers abandon his balls and wrap back around it, just a touch tighter and stroking faster. She circles her thumb over the wetness gathered at the tip of the bulbous head.

With a groan, Bellamy’s hand leaves a trail of scorching heat as it travels down her back and over the slope of her ass. When his deft touch finally finds the wetness pooled between her legs, Clarke moans unabashedly, biting his lip and drawing it into her mouth. She doubles her efforts, curling her fingers around his shaft and gripping him with pressure that she knows feels good. In turn, Bellamy sinks two, then three fingers inside her cunt. The position doesn’t allow him much depth, so he compensates by pumping his fingers, teasing the nerves around the opening of her vagina and encouraging her to rut against his thigh to stimulate her clit.

“Please don’t stop,” Clarke begs, her brow knitted delicately as she breathes against his mouth.

He wasn’t planning to.

The universe had other plans though.

_“Clarke?”_

With that voice ringing in their ears their frenzied touching stops, Clarke’s hand halted at the base of his cock and Bellamy’s fingers frozen just inside her pussy. Breathing harshly, a look of horror and annoyance crosses between them.

“Don’t come in!” Clarke warns, gingerly uncurling her fingers from Bellamy’s cock and releasing it mouthing ‘sorry’ to him. She cannot talk to her mother while holding his dick. She just can’t.

Abby makes a noise she can’t quite identify but it sounds pained and mortified and exactly how Clarke is feeling right now, minus the sexual frustration.

Just then, Bellamy drives his fingers a little further inside her pussy, softly raking his nails on the walls of her channel and making her see galaxies.

Clarke tries to fight it but a strangled moan passes through her lips.

_“I won’t,”_ Abby says, her voice clipped. _“But your presence is required. Both of you. Chancellor Kane has returned.”_

“We’ll – _uh_ – we’ll be there in a moment,” she tries to keep her voice even, swallowing her moans and glaring at Bellamy. He just smirks wolfishly, thrusting a little harder.

_“Now,”_ Abby insists. _“There is a very serious matter Kane needs to discuss with you. He’s not happy.”_

With that Bellamy grudgingly removes his fingers, resting his hand over her ass as they frown at each other. What could Kane possibly want?

“Okay,” Clarke calls out, resolute. “We’ll be right there.”

_“Good.”_

“We’ll finish this later,” Bellamy promises, carefully tucking his still sensitive cock on his pants.

Clarke glares at him half-heartedly. Her muscles are still tense and she’s having a hard time ignoring the dull pulse of denied pleasure at her core. “I will hold you to that.”

Once dressed they cross the camp at a near jog. When they reach the drop ship they stop dead in their tracks, not believing their eyes.

Surrounded by a crowd and standing with Kane is John Murphy, safe and sound. Their heads are ducked as they talk privately and the older man has his hand clasped on Murphy’s shoulder in a comforting fashion. Murphy nods at whatever he is saying and Kane in turn flashes a brief smile, pats his shoulder and says something that makes Murphy crack a smirk.

The crowd parts, making way for Clarke and Bellamy. Seeing them come their way, Kane steps in their direction. Murphy pales under Bellamy’s glare.

“Bellamy. Hey,” fear flashes on Murphy’s features.

“Son of a bitch,” Bellamy growls advancing on him until they’re a foot apart. “I made you a promise the last time I saw you,” he snarls, shoving Murphy back.

He stumbles, rubbing his chest.

“Blake, what the hell are you doing?” Kane tries to step between them to no avail.

Bellamy ignores him. “I told you,” Murphy tries to walk away but Bellamy grabs him, fisting his arm around his forearm. “I would find you, and I would kill you.”

He releases Murphy before attacking him, throwing a fist to his jaw Murphy was too slow to catch.

“Blake!”

Kane and the audience close in on them. Clarke watches in morbid fascination as Murphy takes a punch to his ribs, the force of the blow almost making him fall. Bellamy pulls him back by the lapels of his jacket and nails him in the stomach with his knee. Wheezing, Murphy stumbles and tackles Bellamy to the ground. They roll, exchanging punches. Bellamy easily gains the upper hand and straddles Murphy landing a few blows on his face Murphy is too weak deflect.

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke sees Kane give a nod at one of his guards. That’s the only warning she gets before Major Byrne approaches Bellamy wielding her baton-style Taser.

“Bellamy, watch out!”

Her warning comes too late. When Bellamy lifts his head to look at her Byrne touches the Taser to his back. The layer of clothing saves him from the bite of the shock on his skin but not from the pain.

He would’ve screamed if he could. Electricity jolts through his body and he convulses, rolling off Murphy and hitting the ground. It stops when Byrne pulls the Taser away but the pain remains. Bellamy lays there panting.

“Are you out of your damn mind?!” Clarke shoves Byrne. The much stronger woman stumbles back and almost falls before regaining her balance, shock evident on her face.

Clarke kneels beside Bellamy, pressing her fingers to his neck to check his pulse. Bellamy tries to flex his fingers in an effort to touch her but they’re slow to respond. Every inch of his body aches.

“Take him into custody,” Kane orders smoothly.

Clarke’s head whips around to glare at him, her features twisted with anger. She deftly pulls her knife from her boot and holds it before her. From the crowd, Jasper, Monroe, and many others step up wielding their own weapons closing around Clarke and Bellamy protectively. She doesn’t need to look to know the archers on duty on the lookout posts have their arrows nocked and trained on Kane and Byrne.

“Take another step and you will regret it.”

“I am not the bad guy here,” Kane says. “Your boyfriend just assaulted a person with no motive.”

“Murphy murdered two of our people in cold blood, shot Raven and hanged Bellamy nearly killing him. How’s that for a motive?” Clarke snaps.

Kane’s lips press to a thin line and he scowls at Murphy who, having received part of the electric shock through Bellamy, is having a hard time sitting up straight. “Is that true?”

Murphy shrugs.

Kane recovers quickly. “Regardless. This is not how civilized people resolve their problems. If he has any problem with Murphy he should’ve come directly to me to resolve the conflict.”

“We don’t answer to you. What’s it gonna take to get that fact clear in your head?”

“You only want your independence when it’s convenient to you,” Kane snorts. “I seem to recall you didn’t make a fuss when we shared our medical supplies with you – ”

“And _we_ shared our knowledge of the territory with your camp – ” Clarke argues, thinking of the detailed list of nuts and berries they’d given them advising them to avoid them at all costs to spare them the unpleasantness of being poisoned. Jobi nuts are the mildest of their problems.

“– and now you’re stealing from us,” Kane continues speaking as if she hadn’t said anything. “You gave the impression that your little society had rules and order,” he turns his nose up at them. “Instead I see you are all still delinquents. Where is the tablet?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clarke says, glancing at Bellamy as he shakily sits up with his knees bent before him.

“Major Byrne suspected one of the guards was giving unauthorized access to his equipment to one of you and requested my presence. Upon inspection this morning, Lieutenant Miller here failed to produce his guard issued tablet.”

Clarke’s eyes easily find Miller’s father. The sight of the proud man with his hands cuffed behind his back and flanked by two other guards is not a welcome one. They share a brief look and the determination and honesty she sees in his eyes is enough to assure Clarke he won’t reveal any details of their operation.

“And his son Nathan wasn’t on his tent or on duty when we tried to apprehend him earlier this morning.”

“You _what?_ ” Bellamy struggles to stand up, holding onto Clarke’s hand for support.

“Where is he? Why did he take the tablet? If you don’t answer me right now I will arrest everyone in this camp I consider a threat. Including you, Clarke.”

Abby breaks away from the crowd, making a wide berth of the armed teenagers as she steps closer to Kane. “Marcus, I think you’re overreacting.”

Clarke clenches her fists and glares at her mother and Kane. Only now that Kane threatened her directly does her mother deign to intervene.

“We didn’t steal anything. We’re planning to infiltrate Mount Weather to rescue our friends but we need information first. Miller is going to plant a virus that will give us access to their systems, that’s why we needed to borrow the tablet and that’s where he is right now,” Clarke explains through gritted teeth, barely containing her temper. “You’ll get it back. Promise.”

“Why take it? Why not just ask for it?”

“Like we asked for ammo?” Bellamy asks sarcastically, making it clear he doubts Kane would comply with their requests.

“The Exodus Charter is very clear on this matter. Five shock – lashes for theft.”

“Marcus that’s enough,” Abby snaps. “They’ve explained their motives. You can’t fault them for doing whatever it takes to find their friends, or Lieutenant Miller for helping his son.”

“They committed a crime. They must be punished. As Chancellor – ”

“You weren’t elected Chancellor,” Abby cuts in with a hostile look, reminding him of the precariousness of his position, and bringing that fact to light for everyone else. “You’d do well to remember that in the future.”

Kane stares at Clarke’s mother for what feels like an eternity while everyone else watches avidly. “I will deal with you later,” he says finally, frowning, then turns to the guards flanking Miller’s father. “Cut him loose.” Then lastly, to Clarke and Bellamy, “I expect that tablet returned to me at the earliest opportunity.”

With a final glare and a nod to Byrne to follow him, Kane marches away in the direction of the guards’ tents.

Clarke immediately turns her attention to Bellamy. “Are you okay?” she reaches up to cup his cheeks and then turns him around tugging at his shirt to reveal the spot on his back where Byrne shocked him. She touches the bruise forming there, giving silent thanks for the fact that the Taser didn’t make direct contact with his skin. If it had, it could’ve easily abraded him and drawn blood.

“I’ll be fine. It’s not the first time I’ve been shock – lashed,” he tells her.

A dozen questions bubble inside her, but she saves them for another time.

“Hey,” Murphy approaches them, his hands splayed before him. Bellamy lunges towards him but Murphy backs away. “You kill me, you’ll never hear what I know about the Mountain Men.”

“And you think we’re going to believe anything you have to say?” Bellamy shakes his head.

An ice cold smile curls Murphy’s lips. “Mountain Men, Reapers and Grounders. How about we play connect the dots?”

* * *

Bellamy sees Clarke cross the camp towards him, politely turning down Jasper’s offer to join his group for lunch. It takes a lot of restraint to not greet her with a kiss when she’s finally by his side, watching the others taking a midday break.

“Do we believe him?”

He’s been obsessively going through every detail of the information Murphy gave them all morning and he keeps coming to one single question. Can they trust Murphy’s word?

Clarke sighs, eyes fixed on the boisterous teenagers. “If what he said is true we can’t afford not to. And it would explain the connection between Mount Weather and the tunnels.”

He tears his eyes from her for a few seconds, checking that Miller’s dad isn’t getting any shit from the other guards. He promised Miller he wouldn’t let anything happen to his father if their plan was found out and he intends to keep that promise.

When he glances at her again he finds Clarke deep in thought and nibbling the skin around her thumb. Bellamy sighs. She hasn’t done that in a few weeks. “We’ll have to move up our plan.”

He gently removes her hand away from her mouth. She shoots him an apologetic look. Bellamy twines their fingers and pulls her away, circling the drop ship.

“Your mom and Kane?” Bellamy asks as he steers her to the back of the ship.

“Still holed up in her tent.”

Bellamy smirks. “Maybe they’re getting it on – ouch,” he chuckles, rubbing the spot on his chest where she slapped him.

“That’s not funny, and really, profoundly disgusting.”

Clarke leans her back to the side of the drop ship, glad for the respite he’s offering her. Bellamy crowds her, placing his forearm above her head. His other hand slithers under her shirt and rests on the dent of her waist. Clarke wets her lips with the tip of her tongue, drawing his attention to her mouth.

“You and I have some unfinished business.”

Clarke hums. “And a lot of work to do, sadly. We need to get back soon. I don’t like being away from camp when Kane, my mother and now Murphy are here. I worry that they’ll try something,” she confesses, playing with the broken zipper of his jacket.

He nods, gaze fixed on her mouth. “I take it convincing you to go for a swim tonight will be difficult?”

Clarke giggles. “Try impossible.”

His mouth descends on hers, cutting her laugh short. Clarke shuts her eyes, amazed by the softness of his lips. Bellamy’s tongue sensuously swipes over her lower lip, making her gasp. Bellamy uses the opening to deepen the kiss, taking charge of it like he dominates every intimate encounter between them.

Clarke fists his jacket, needing something to cling to. Familiar with his touch, her body comes alive, craving contact. He pushes harder against her, effectively trapping her between him and the unyielding metal of the drop ship. His arousal is evident against her soft belly. Clarke’s heart hammers inside her chest.

Bellamy firmly grips her waist, then slides his hand higher, hiking up her shirt until he can cup her breast. Clarke thinks about all the people on the other side of the drop ship, how anyone could come upon them and see them. Bellamy, taking her mouth ravenously and massaging her breast. Clarke, panting and undulating under his touch, wanting, needing more.

Heat pools low on her belly and her clit pulses like a heartbeat. The denied pleasure of this morning reignites easily, urging her to hook her leg over his hip and rub against him.

Bellamy takes the hint. He plants his palms on her ass and lifts her off her feet, putting her at face level. Clarke crosses her ankles at his lower back, biting back a moan at the fabulous friction as Bellamy grips her hips and rubs against her. The feel of his stiff cock trapped inside his pants brushing against her swollen clit is one of the greatest things she’s ever felt.

“I need you,” she moans. “Now.”

Bellamy groans, a low guttural sound deep in his throat. He thrusts, pinning her against the ship. “Someone might see us.”

“I don’t care. Please,” Clarke bites his lip, fingers pulling on his curly locks. The sudden metallic taste in her mouth indicates she sank her teeth a little too deep and actually broke the tender skin of his lip.

He drops her, letting her slide against his body. Clarke worries for a fraction of a second that she might’ve really hurt him and upset him, but Bellamy turns her around to face the ship and drags down her zipper in quick fashion. Her pants are tucked into her boots and therefore can’t be taken off completely so he just shoves them down until they bunch around her knees.

Clarke braces against the wall of the drop ship, widening her legs as far as the pants allow her and arching her back. Bellamy’s knuckles brush against the globes of her ass as he undoes his own pants. Clarke shivers in anticipation. Any second now he will grip her hips and drive into her…

_“GROUNDERS!”_

She looks at him over her shoulder, the panic flashing in her features mimicking his own. “Fuck,” Bellamy curses, helping her pull up her pants and zipping up his own. “Come on.”

They reach the gate in record time. The camp is in a flurry of activity. The archers have taken their posts followed by Kane’s guards while everyone else gathers before the gate wielding every weapon imaginable. Bellamy climbs up the tallest watch tower, fairly flying from one rung to the other, dimly aware of Kane following close behind.

He finds Jasper peering down to the edge of the woods where a group of five grounders approach them, led by a young female.

The radio hooked to Jasper’s belt comes to life with static. _“All in position.”_

Bellamy frowns, staring at the group. They move slowly, with their hands in the air and wielding no weapons. He absently takes the bow and quiver Jasper pushes to his hand.

The leader tilts her head back, looking straight at him. Most of her dark hair is loose, pushed away from her face by a single fishtail braid trailing down the back of her head. Blue eyes find his gaze and Bellamy’s stomach drops to his knees.

“Hold your fire!” he bellows. “Everyone stand down!”

“Blake what the hell are you doing?” Kane asks, lowering the muzzle of his rifle only slightly.

Behind them, Jasper repeats Bellamy’s words through the radio, stammering lightly and shooting Bellamy concerned looks.

Bellamy pries the radio off his hands, clicks the com button and raises it to his mouth. “If I see anyone firing a single shot I will personally rip off your limbs and beat you with them. Open the gates.”

“Blake. Those are grounders,” Kane cries, confused.

Bellamy shakes his head, gripping the lip of the tower and looking down at the group. “That’s my sister.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? Worth the long wait or so so? Please tell me in a comment!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls from under a rock* Hi peeps! You probably hate so much right now, I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated! I love you all for being so patient a leaving me such wonderful comments, and I hope this chapter makes up for the long wait. 
> 
> Two things before you go on reading. First. Sometime this week I'll be posting a new fic titled "did I say it out loud (I wanna have your baby)" and as the name suggests, it's a big ball of fluff and smut. I would really, really appreciate it if you guys could check it out. I've been writing it for months, it was sort of my happy domestic bellarke place to go to while the season played out and I want to share it with you.
> 
> Second, if you're following [me](bellohmyblake.tumblr.com) on tumblr (you should definitely come talk to me!) you know last month I went a little crazy with a headcanon and basically what happened is, a series of dumb little drabbles has turned into a 30 pages long fic I still haven't finished writing. So for those invested in Bellamy's dad is alive!AU, "Choices of Isolation" (title credit goes to [Maiqu20](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiqu20/pseuds/Maiqu20)) will be posted next month.
> 
> As always, all credit goes my beta and friend [Amanda](amacancion.tumblr.com) for her wonderful editting and smut logistics checking ;-)
> 
> Oh, one last thing. Please check the tags for this fic because I have added certain ones accordingly to this particular chapter. If bondage and orgasm denial bother you, you can skip the first portion of the chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Bellamy tiptoes into the tent, the sound of his rustling clothes masked by the whistling wind blowing outside.

His eyes fall on Clarke’s sleeping form, curled on her side with her hand tucked under her chin, huddled under the blankets and furs. He undresses to the tune of her soft snores, goose bumps breaking out over every inch of skin he exposes to the chilly air. Once down to his boxers, and having tied down tightly the piece of parachute fabric that serves as the entrance to their tent, Bellamy dives under the covers, a shiver of pleasure coursing through him as he curls around Clarke’s warmth.

She stirs. “Bellamy?”

“Sleep, princess,” he whispers. He wraps an arm around her waist and gently pulls her until she’s flush against him.

“How was Octavia?” she asks sleepily.

“Heartbroken,” he sighs. “I never hid the fact that I don’t like Lincoln and I find his method of courting my sister pretty fucking backwards, but she loves him. I hate to see her like this.”

Clarke blinks the sleep away. Octavia came home with the sad news that she and Lincoln had been set upon by Reapers on their way to the sea. Lincoln was supposed to distract them while Octavia got away, but he never showed up to their rendezvous spot. By the time she retraced her steps, Lincoln and the Reapers were long gone. Later she found Indra. She and her men were tracking the same Reapers and so they joined forces, but while Indra’s missing men were found alive, such was not the case with Lincoln. He was simply gone, no trace of him left. Clarke’s heart hurts for Octavia who hasn’t lost hope of finding him yet, and probably never will.

“I know,” she laces their fingers together under her breastbone and gives him a comforting squeeze. Clarke shivers. “You’re cold.” She turns in his arms, resting her head on his bicep and trapping his freezing feet between hers. “Maybe I can warm you up.”

She brushes a trail of kisses on the inside of his arm and up his shoulder. Bellamy tucks her hair behind her ear. “It’s late. We need to get up early tomorrow.”

Her fingers find the ragged edge of his boxers. “We get up early every day, so?”

“But tomorrow we have a shit load of stuff to do.”

“Exactly,” Clarke pushes up on her elbow. Her gaze finds his in the darkness. “I have no idea when we’ll be alone again. I’ve wanted you all day.”

Clarke’s heart races as she climbs over Bellamy, straddling his lap. Her hands splay over his naked chest and she leans down to brush his lips with hers. “Fuck me.”

He suddenly moves, making Clarke lose her balance. She grips his shoulders and her back hits the mattress as Bellamy looms above her.

“That sounded suspiciously like an order,” he growls, keeping her pinned down with his weight. “I think you’re forgetting who’s in charge here.”

Excitement spikes low in Clarke’s core. “So remind me,” she drawls, the challenge evident in her voice.

Bellamy smirks down at her. “You’re gonna regret that.”

Clarke bites her lip to hide a smile. She highly doubts it.

“Stay where you are,” Bellamy orders. He jumps off the bed and quickly slips on his heavy boots. “I’ll be right back.”

She gasps. “Bellamy you’re practically naked!”

She watches his back disappear. He’s in and out of the tent in less than a minute but he’s shivering when he returns, wielding a small torch. He plants it on its designated place in the center of the walking space. The dying flame paints the inside of the tent an array of soft orange tones and Clarke is treated to the mouthwatering sight of Bellamy Blake clad only in a ratty pair of boxers and heavy duty combat boots. His naked chest gleams on the spots where random raindrops splattered and his nipples are beaded from the cold outside.

Clarke kicks all the covers down and turns on her side, resting her head on her hand as she tracks his movements around the tent. Her need for him didn’t vanish after they were interrupted yesterday for the second time, it only took a backseat to more pressing things, like Octavia being escorted to camp by a group of grounders sent by their Commander to negotiate peace and Anya’s release. On top of that, Murphy insisted they take him back in exchange for information about the Reapers, and her mother and Kane tirelessly kept prying details of their plan to attack Mount Weather from them.

She was more than ready to pick up where they left off when she finally retired to their tent. Unfortunately, Bellamy was still with Octavia so Clarke had to rely on her own meager skills to take the edge off before she could relax herself enough to get some sleep before he returned.

Bellamy finally turns back to the bed. His eyebrow arches. “I thought I told you not to move.”

He drops a bundle of seatbelts on the bed next to her. Excitement mixed with a healthy dose of fear rushes through Clarke. She carefully settles on her back once again, glancing from the seatbelts to Bellamy.

“Give me your hands.”

He presses her wrists together and wraps a seatbelt around them twice before tying it. Clarke gives an experimental tug, finding her hands bound securely. Bellamy easily wiggles two fingers between the material and her skin, nodding approvingly.

His knees dig into the dry grass mattress on each side of her hips as he straddles her. He takes the end of the makeshift rope and leans over her, tying it to one of the logs that make up the frame of the bed outside her sightline. Clarke’s elbows brush her ears. The way he’s tied her doesn’t offer much slack and she finds with escalating apprehension that she can’t bring her arms down or break free at all.

Bellamy gently brushes his fingers on the jumping pulse on her neck. “Shh you’re okay. You know your safe word,” he reminds her. “Take a deep breath and let it out slowly.”

Clarke follows his instructions, eyes locked with his. Her body gradually relaxes and so does her heartbeat.

“Good?” Bellamy’s hand travels from her neck to the side of her breast in a long, languid caress, carefully cupping the soft mound.

His calloused thumb circles her nipple. Clarke rubs her thighs together, feeling wetness rush out of her most intimate place.

Bellamy moves away. His hands caress the sides of her waist, over her hip, and down her legs. He takes the leg closest to the edge of the bed, hooks his hand beneath her knee and bends it up. He wraps the material of the seatbelt around her calf right under her knee and then pushes her leg upward and to the side. Bellamy secures the ends of the seatbelt to the frame on the side of the bed and buckles them together with a deafening click, gradually adjusting the slack until the leg is open wide apart and her knee is almost at breast level.

Clarke squirms shyly, trying to cover her exposed pussy with her free leg. Bellamy shakes his head, chuckling. He splays a warm hand over her inner thigh and gently applies pressure there, bending her knee with his other hand and pushing until her leg is pressed against the mattress.

He kneels between her spread thighs, keeping her open for his inspection. Clarke gulps, tugs on her bindings. Her arms won’t come down and she can’t move any part of her left leg except her foot. Every inch of her pussy is revealed to Bellamy’s view.

His fingers dip into the well between her thighs. “Look how wet you are already.”

Clarke shuts her eyes, burning with inexplicable embarrassment.

Bellamy licks his lips, softly sliding his fingers over her slit. “Or did you touch yourself while I was gone?”

He brushes her clit, the ghost of a touch, aided by her copious wetness. A soft gasp escapes her.

“I asked you a question,” Bellamy presses on, tapping her clit to the rhythm of his words.

“I did,” Clarke answers, becoming frustrated when she can’t buck her hips to get him to touch her harder. The way he’s tied her down allows only limited movement.

He leans over and licks the inside of her thigh. “Did you come?”

Without warning, two fingers enter her pussy. “ _Yes!_ ” She cries out, the stretching sensation of her inner walls and the continuous gliding of his thumb over her clit sheer bliss, making it nearly impossible to think.

Clarke wiggles, arches her back, already close to coming. If he moves his fingers, gives her the friction she craves, she knows she’d snap and come on the spot. But no, he holds his fingers deep inside her, immobile.

His thumb abandons her clit. Bellamy looks up at her, resting his cheek on her thigh, his eyes sparkling with a wicked gleam. “Then I guess you’re all set for the night, aren’t you?”

Clarke groans, barely resisting the urge to kick him with her free leg.

“Ouch!” Bellamy rubs his back where her heel impacted, shooting her an incredulous look.

She smiles inwardly. Oops.

Bellamy narrows his eyes. “I think someone needs to practice a little patience.”

Correctly guessing the implication of his words, Clarke raises her foot to kick him again. Can’t he see she _needs_ him? Why is he delaying what they both want?

He traps her ankle in his big hand and squeezes, warningly. “Careful. I can keep you on the edge all night long and walk out of this tent without letting you come at all,” Bellamy withdraws his fingers almost totally, then slowly pushes them back in. “You’ll come when I think you’ve earned it.”

Bellamy sees her pupils dilate. Her breathing comes out in shallow pants. If she didn’t have a submissive streak a mile wide, she would’ve kicked him far harder and demanded to be released. But the idea of being under his control, helpless to whatever he wishes to do to her body, turns her on. The evidence is right before him, between her legs, juices flowing freely and close to pooling on the mattress.

His gaze drops to her gorgeous breasts, deciding he hasn’t paid nearly enough attention to them. He removes his fingers completely from tight clasp of her pussy, extracting a pained whine from Clarke. He straddles her free leg, letting his knee press against her mound. Clarke gasps, the hair on his leg wonderfully coarse against her excited flesh.

Bellamy moves upward, kissing his way to her breast. The rasp of his scruffy cheeks against her delicate skin heightens her arousal and he rubs his cheeks over the roundness of one breast first and then the other, gently abrading her skin. Clarke pants under his ministrations, biting her lip to keep from moaning. Her heart hammers inside her chest and her pussy throbs against the unyielding pressure of his knee.

He slowly tongues her nipple, the tip already stiff and pointed. The gentle, almost shy touch sends shivers down Clarke’s back. She melts under him, closing her eyes with a low moan. Bellamy smirks, in tune with her every reaction, then captures her sensitive nipple in his hot mouth and sucks it long, slow, and hard.

Clarke jerks, gasps, tries to twist away from the extreme sensation. Her hands grip the short slack of seatbelt that connects her to the bed. Bellamy releases her nipple slowly, nipping it gently with his teeth at the last moment.

“Bellamy!” Clarke whimpers, arching her back and pushing her chest closer to him.

He chuckles as he moves to lather her left breast with long swipes of his tongue. His big hand is warm and gentle as he cups the breast he just abandoned, massaging slowly as his saliva cools over her nipple. The contrast between the tender way he touches her right breast with the hungry manner he ravishes the other with his mouth nearly drives her crazy. He sucks one nipple trying to engulf as much as the pliant globe of her breast within the warmth of his mouth, flicking the beaded point with his tongue mercilessly while his thumb on her other nipple is a mere whisper of a touch. 

Restless, desperate to come, Clarke plants her free foot on the mattress to gain some leverage and bucks her hips against Bellamy’s leg. The slide of her drenched pussy on his knee feels wonderful but he leans back, releasing her nipple with a wet plop and shaking his head.

“I don’t think so princess.”

Bellamy sits back on his heels, mindful of not putting too much weight on Clarke’s leg. His hands stay at her breasts, just holding them and appreciating their heaviness. In the dim torch light he can see shadows dance over the bountiful swells and her big puffy nipples, the points beaded and their color an intense pink from his previous abuse. She lets out a ragged breath, watching him watch her.

He moves off her leg to kneel between her widespread thighs. “Don’t kick me again,” he warns, running his hand along the inside of her calf as he presses her free leg to the mattress. “Or I’ll tie down this one too and then you’ll _really_ be helpless.”

The notion should terrify her yet it sends exhilaration rushing through her veins.

He frames her pussy with his hands, his thumbs gently separating her slick folds. “So how _did_ you touch yourself?” Bellamy asks. His thumbs dip into her flesh and trace the contours of her inner folds from top to bottom. “Talk me through it.”

“Um,” Clarke sighs, bites her lip as she tries to get a hold of her scattered thoughts.

“Did you start here?” he fingers her clit directly on top of it. Clarke moans and writhes under him. “Or maybe here?” Bellamy circles her opening, pushing in just the tips of two fingers. “Or maybe you just like to take your time…” This time his thumbs run over her folds in a long caress, spreading her wetness all around her pussy. “Tell me.”

Her pulse races. She thought she was done blushing for this man, and yet. “Ah, my clit,” she finally confesses. “Just rubbed circles on my clit. Hard.”

Bellamy hums. “No build up?” he asks silkily. His thumb hones in on her clit, rubbing tight, hard circles. “No teasing? Just hard and fast?”

Clarke gives a strangled moan. She feels the tension coiling in her core and the orgasm fast approaching.

“Do not come, Clarke,” Bellamy orders, slowing his movements slightly. “Fight it off. You haven’t earned it yet. Think about something else.” Clarke whimpers, mentally reciting the list of bones in the human body and forcing herself to ignore the need in her core. Bellamy smirks and picks up the pace, now flicking her clit from side to side.

“Ah! Yes. Yes!”

“ _No._ Hold it off.”

She sighs brokenly, desperate for that final flick that would propel her off the edge. “Please. I can’t.”

“Just a little while longer.”

Clarke bites her lip, piercing the tender skin, and tastes a hint of blood. She tries her best to keep the orgasm from overtaking her, holding onto the last thread of her sanity doing so. At last, when Bellamy finally slows his movements completely and removes his hand, Clarke sobs with a mix of relief because she doesn’t have to fight it anymore, and frustration because the need is still mighty within her and he denied her any sort of satisfaction.

Having closed her eyes, it’s a surprise when Bellamy presses a sweet kiss to her lips. “You did good baby.” Clarke moans into the kiss, her chest heaving and brushing her nipples against his firm chest.

Bellamy moves back down before Clarke can get lost in the kiss. He brushes his lips over her navel, his tongue peeking out to lick teasingly inside it, and moves further down. Another chaste kiss on top of her mound and then he’s right there, burying his face in her pussy. Clarke pants, using whatever small leverage she can muster to tilt her hips and press against him as his tongue traces magical patterns in her sensitive flesh.

Bellamy’s eyes fall shut with the first taste of her pussy. He devours her, lapping at the cream gathered at the opening, alternating long sensual strokes with short jabs. He wiggles his tongue deep, licking up the trembling walls of her sex. When Clarke’s whimpers become alarmingly loud and the muscles of her thighs start shaking, he retreats to wrap his lips around her clit. He sucks the excited nub into his mouth and flicks his tongue over it from side to side, then up and down.

At the edge of sanity, Clarke idly wonders if it was his intension all along to drive her crazy with desire. If so, he is certainly doing a spectacular job.

He releases her clit, giving her a respite she doesn’t know whether to welcome or hate, then blows across her engorged pussy, bringing new sensation to her sensitive flesh. Two long fingers slide into her tight sheath, honing onto the cluster of nerves behind her clit. A powerful wail escapes Clarke’s lips, surprising her as her whole body convulses. Her hips cant off the bed as much as possible as his fingertips circle and press insistently of that spot inside her pussy that makes her see white. The pleasure is too much and she tries to wiggle her hips away from his expert touch but Bellamy has her right where he wants her so he continues strumming her g-spot with calloused fingers.

“You’re okay, Clarke,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over her engorged clit. Clarke thrashes against the bed, mindless with the need to come but unable to go over the edge, overstimulated to the point she can’t differentiate between pain and pleasure, both coiling inside her and waiting to snap.

“Bellamy. Please,” Clarke sobs, her pleading gaze searching for his. His lips are swollen and his chin wet with her juices. Lust swims in his dark eyes. “I can’t take any more. _Please._ ”

Bellamy presses the flat of his tongue against her clit and hums, sending delicious vibrations through her. “Alright then. You can come.”

Clarke nearly weeps with joy. The next time his teeth nibble on her clit and his tongue soothes the small ache, she lets herself go. Her pelvis arches, Bellamy’s lips trap her clit and he sucks, hard, matching the rhythm of her pounding pulse.

Her whimpers are the only sound in the tent, surrounding him as she comes undone around his probing fingers. Her mind goes blank as the orgasm slams into her, wave after wave of pent up pleasure, pulsing from her pussy to the tips of her nipples and booming in her ears.

When she comes down, Clarke becomes aware that Bellamy has adjusted the slack on her leg binding and now it’s at a ninety degree angle from her hip rather than pointing all the way up to her chest. He smiles at her, noticing she’s back to the world of the living, and brushes her hair off her face.

“You’re not tired yet, aren’t you?” he asks teasingly, dropping a searing kiss to her lips.

_Of you? Never._

But she swallows those words, fearing the meaning behind them is far heavier than either of them is ready to discuss at this point. Instead, Clarke simply shakes her head and kisses him back, moaning as she tastes herself on his lips.

Bellamy trails quick kisses down her ribcage, the ticklish spots on her belly, and over the curve of her hip. He gently pushes her until she’s laying on her side. He straddles her bound leg, throws the other one around his hip. He sits back on his heels and scoots up until the head of his cock nudges her slick pussy. 

With one steady thrust he’s fully seated inside her. The inner walls of her pussy, still rippling with the aftershocks of her orgasm, fight against him, pushing him out and creating a friction so wonderful Bellamy and Clarke groan in unison.

“Fuck. I’m too damned close,” Bellamy growls, his face a study in concentration as he tries to stay in control. His thumb blindly finds her clit and slowly rubs it. “Can you do it baby? Think you can come with me this time?”

Clarke wouldn’t have thought it possible after her last mind-blowing orgasm, but if being with Bellamy has taught her anything, is that there’s no limit to the pleasure they can find together. If he wants her to come again, then she will.

He pulls out and slams back in, bearing down on her, touching spots inside her that feel new and freshly discovered. The new position allows him complete control of her body and the depth and angle of his thrusts, making desire and need bloom anew within her.

Bellamy strums her clit with avid fingers. He speeds up with each stroke, going faster and faster until he’s fucking her without pause.

Clarke doesn’t fight it. Her body settles as her soul soars in a sort of out of body experience. She feels herself relax against the mattress, but she’s not a hundred percent sure there even _is_ a mattress beneath her. The whole world quite literally fades away. In her head there’s no room for anything other than the glide of Bellamy’s cock into her, the erotic rhythm of his thrusts and the pleasure that builds and builds until it explodes.  

The orgasm shoots through her, making stars flash before her eyes and ridding her of all coherent thought as her pussy clenches around him. It clings like a vise around his pounding cock. When her pleasure hits, he loses the last of his control and with one final thrust, Bellamy buries himself so deep inside her he doesn’t know if he’ll ever find his way out.

It takes Bellamy a few minutes to get his bearings. By the time his breathing has slowed and his brain allows for somewhat coherent thinking, he becomes aware of a very important and troubling fact.

Clarke is too quiet, her eyes are still closed and while her panting has subsided, her breathing is still quite shallow and her face is facing away from him buried in the inside of her arm.

_Shit. Shit shit shit. Shit._

Did he take it too far? He got more um, _excited_ than he’d anticipated. But fucking her on the wake of her orgasm, with Clarke bound and in place, completely at his mercy, seemed to flip a switch within him. Maybe he got too rough when they were both so close to coming, but he wasn’t so far gone that he wouldn’t have heard her say the safe word. Wasn’t he? Would she even say it?

Yes.

“Clarke?” he asks tentatively as he slips out of her.

She takes a big gulping breath. “Can you please untie me?”

 _Shit. Fuck. I fucked up._ “Sure,” Bellamy jumps off the bed and makes quick work of her bindings. His hands are shaking so bad he accidentally tightens her wrists bonds more before hurriedly apologizing and untying them completely.

He massages her wrists after releasing her leg, avoiding her piercing gaze. Like he expected, the seatbelts didn’t break the skin and they weren’t tight enough to cut off circulation, but she did a fair share of thrashing while she was in the throes of passion so there are a few marks there that will likely bruise.

_Or was she trying to break free?_

Clarke sits up. This is it, this is when she’s going to tell him they’re done and demand he find another place to sleep. Instead, she scoots back and pats the space in the bed next to her, indicating with an easy smile that he should lay down. As soon as he does, still expecting her to yell at him for pushing her further than she was ready for, she rolls on top of him and moves down until her breath tickles his spent cock. Before he can react or say anything she puts her mouth directly on his dick.

She licks it, cleaning their combined juices off it and making the most obscene, arousing sounds he’s ever had the pleasure of hearing. Bellamy is completely thrown off, amazed with his short recovery time as his cock becomes stiff after a moment. Clarke smirks proudly. Once she’s cleaned him properly, she wraps her lips around the head and sucks, flicking her tongue on the slit.

It doesn’t take him long to come inside her welcoming mouth. He was sure he had nothing left after how hard he’d come earlier, but he was wrong. This orgasm is not as strong and all-consuming, but it rushes through him like the river current when he forgets to plant his feet to fight it – steady and gentle, but no less powerful and dangerous.

_Shit. I am so fucked._

Clarke kisses up his abdomen, finally settling in comfortably for the night between Bellamy’s open legs. He blindly feels for the fur blanket and throws it over them, tucking it at Clarke’s sides.

The torch is all but dead but he can still make out the emotions dancing in Clarke’s eyes before she brushes a kiss on his lips, and then another on the dimple of his chin before resting her head on his chest and sighing deeply.

He follows her to sleep almost immediately, wishing they could stay like this forever and dreading the morning to come when he’ll have to let her go.

* * *

“The Commander is agreeable to peace talks,” Octavia starts, splitting her attention between Clarke and Bellamy, and Kane and Abby. Behind her, Indra leans on the wall, not occupying a seat around the table like the rest of them. Her posture would be the epitome of casual relaxation, if not for the thinly veiled animosity in her dark eyes and the hand clasping her sword. “By the rules of war, Clarke conquered this territory when she took out Anya and Tristan’s army. The Commander is also aware that the Ark has landed with reinforcements and that their main camp is two kilometers southwest from here. She doesn’t want to risk another war so near Mount Weather.”

Indra snorts, drawing the looks of everyone on the room.

Octavia ignores her. “She wants to meet you,” she nods to Clarke.

“Why?” Kane inquiries, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Bellamy stares at him. “Because they think she’s our leader.”

Indra takes a warning step towards them. “Is she _not_?”

“Ah, Clarke and Bellamy are this camp’s leaders,” Octavia quickly explains. “The rest of the Sky People are not under their direct command.”

The woman narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Is that so?”

“You’ve spent some time here now,” Clarke says confidently, her calm voice belying the thundering of her heart inside her chest. “You know who our people take their orders from.”

Indra considers her words for a moment, then without even a nod she goes back to her spot by the wall.

“Anyway, as I was saying. The Commander demands an audience with you.”

“How do we know this is not a trap?” Abby wonders, her eyes narrowed on Indra. The warrior appears to take it as a personal offense and openly glares at her.

“We don’t,” Octavia says. The steel laced in her voice is new, as is the kohl framing her blue eyes. It doesn’t quite manage to hide the redness around them from crying herself to sleep, though. “But I trust Indra. She saved my life and helped me find Lincoln and took me in after… I trust her,” she states, sneering at Abby. “If she says it’s not a trap, it’s _not_ a trap.”

“That’s settled then,” Bellamy leans forward and rests the underside of his forearms on the makeshift table, putting an end to that discussion before it could turn into an argument. He shares a look with Clarke and she nods. “Clarke is going back with you two to the Commander’s camp. I assume there’s no problem if she brings with her a few guards?” he directs the question to Indra, including her for the first time in the conversation.

She gives him a short nod and a level stare. “It is expected.”

“But this is a peace talk, you don’t want to march in there with a small army you know?” Octavia offers with a half-smile.

“I’m going too,” Abby declares, focused on her daughter. “It’s too dangerous. I’m not letting you walk in there alone.”

Clarke’s jaw clenches. “I don’t need your protection,” she reminds her.

Abby gives her a watery smile, shaking her head. “You’re my child.”

Across the room, Bellamy and Kane both notice Indra frown absorbing every bit of the mother and daughter interaction. They share a quick glance. By Octavia’s account the Commander is impressed with and respects Clarke’s leadership. Having Abby there unwittingly undermining her authority could be disastrous. They need to make peace with the grounders if they have any chance of establishing a permanent camp here, and it’s likely another opportunity like this one, when they have the upper hand and the grounders are shying off entering a new conflict with them, will never come again. Even if Kane doesn’t like ceding some of the authority to Clarke, and indirectly to Bellamy, he recognizes this is too good a chance to let it pass.

“As the Chancellor pro tempore, _I_ should be the one to accompany Clarke,” Kane says smoothly.

Abby shoots him an incredulous look. “Marcus.”

“I speak for all of our people and I’m sure we can all reach a suitable agreement with the Commander.”

“And with Clarke gone we’ll be one doctor short,” Bellamy adds. “We need you here.”

She turns to glare at him. “Jackson can handle it.”

“Jackson has his hands full with Camp Jaha’s medical needs,” Kane points out. “He can’t be at two places at once.”

Unable to refute that logic, Abby swallows and nods curtly.

Under the table, Bellamy feels Clarke’s small hand crawling up his thigh. He glances at her and casually drops his hand to his lap, twining their fingers together. She gives his hand a squeeze and the corners of her lips turn up for a brief moment. _Thank you._

“We’re taking Anya back with us,” Clarke says to Octavia, who nods. “And as a show of good faith, she won’t be handcuffed after we leave this camp.”

Octavia smirks. “That’ll work.”

With that settled, Clarke’s gaze sweeps around the room. “While the information Murphy gave us about the Reapers and their connection to the Mountain Men is certainly vital, we can’t use it as a bargaining chip with the Grounders until we get confirmation.”

Octavia merely blinks, having no idea what this information is about. Indra snaps to attention, no longer pretending she’s not interested in what they’re saying. This is the first she’s heard of a potential connection between the Mountain Men and the Reapers, both long-time enemies of her people, and it’s not a coincidence on Clarke’s part that she’s revealing but a small bit of it now that the grounder is present, as vaguely as possible.

“Which is why I’m staying,” Bellamy follows in seamlessly. “Miller is coming back tomorrow with the data we need. Once I have a clear picture of what we’re up against, I’ll meet you at the grounder camp.”

“Surely the Commander will be even more agreeable to strike peace with us and forsake all future claims to this whole territory if we happen to be correct.”

Clarke barely manages to hide her shock while Bellamy just smirks and nods. Kane is still mostly in the dark about their plans for Mount Weather and they certainly haven’t shared any of Murphy’s findings with him or Abby yet, but he’s acting the part of the ever confident Chancellor in sync with his subordinates. Clarke is sure Indra will waste no time relaying every word she’s heard inside this room to the Commander, so putting up a united front before her, showing her that for as little time as the Sky People have been on the ground they’re still a mighty force to contend with, organized and resourceful, is key to maintaining their upper hand and securing a deal.

She knows this but they didn’t have a chance to talk about it with Kane and her mother before the meeting. It’s good to know they’re on the same page, and that, despite their less than civil dealings in the recent past, they can put aside their petty tug-of-war for power, come together before an enemy, and put the needs and safety of all their people first.

“All’s settled then,” Octavia pipes up. “How soon can we leave?”

* * *

“So you and my brother. That’s something I never thought I’d see.”

Clarke purses her lips, sneaking a quick look at Octavia. They walk side by side, their shoulders brushing occasionally as they follow Indra through the woods. Octavia doesn’t spare her a glance. Her normally transparent eyes are cloaked behind strategically placed smears of kohl, bringing out the blue in them and giving her a fierce look. She has been uncharacteristically quiet since they left camp and Clarke left her to her thoughts, guessing when she was ready to talk she would.

Clarke skips over a fallen log. “Is it really that unbelievable?”

“Yes.”

Octavia’s brusque answer leaves her feeling she was hit with a sack of bricks. “Okay.”

The younger girl grimaces, noticing Clarke’s dejected tone. “Look, last time I checked you were head over ass in love with Finn. Now you’re into my brother. What am I supposed to think?”

Clarke grits her teeth. If it were anyone else, she wouldn’t even think once before pointedly telling them to mind their own business. Unfortunately, as Bellamy’s sister and the person he loves most in the entire universe, it kind of is Octavia’s business and Clarke can’t help but grudgingly respect her for looking out for her brother.

“I was never in love with Finn,” she states, enunciating the words very clearly so Octavia can’t doubt her honesty. “I care about him as a friend but I don’t… Your brother and I…” Clarke sighs, rubbing a tired hand over her face. This conversation would be a hell of a lot easier if she and Bellamy had taken the time to revise the nature of their relationship. A lot has changed since they agreed on those silly rules by the stream all those weeks ago, rules she’s not sure they ever even made an effort to follow. She struggles to find the right words. “We’re – _more_. I don’t know.”

Octavia looks at her through narrowed eyes. “Interesting,” she hums mysteriously, then turns back to stare ahead without another word.

“What is?” Clarke asks impatiently.

“Nothing, it’s just,” Octavia shrugs nonchalantly, but the corners of her mouth tick up in a little smirk. “My brother had a bitch of a time defining what you are when I asked him too.”

It takes every fiber of self-control she has, but Clarke manages to swallow the stampede of questions bubbling inside her.

An argument breaks out ahead of them and Clarke is gratefully distracted.

“What is going on?” she picks up her pace to catch up to Indra and Kane.

Kane turns to her. “I proposed that we found a suitable spot to make camp for the night and continue our journey at first light.” Clarke nods understandingly. That sounds like a reasonable request.

“I declined,” Indra cuts in, nearly spitting out the words. “The Commander is expecting us. There is no time for dawdling.”

“She can’t expect us to walk in the middle of the night,” Clarke reasons, careful to keep her tone amicable. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Octavia a few feet away, purposely staying out of the argument.

“After a good night’s sleep I estimate we will reach your Commander’s camp by midmorning,” Kane adds smoothly. “Would that be acceptable to you?”

Huh. Second instance of working _with_ Marcus Kane rather than butting heads with him, and all in one day. Who would’ve thought.

Indra grudgingly agrees and they set up camp in the first clearing they find. Clarke makes quick work of a fire, sneaking glances at Kane as he confers with the guards traveling with them, presumably arranging watch shifts.

He approaches her. “Do you know anything else about the Commander, other than what Ms. Blake told us?”

Clarke shakes her head. “We thought Anya was in charge for a long time.”

He hums, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I know we’ve had our differences,” Kane says suddenly, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he warms his hands by the fire. “But we can’t afford to show dissent before the grounders. Survival has a cost and we’ve already paid it,” he says, the fog of regret clouding his eyes. Clarke has seen the same look on Bellamy, and she suspects the culling is never far from Kane’s thoughts either.

For her, it’s a lever and door and three hundred souls consumed by a ring of fire ever-present in her mind. She can relate.

Kane looks at her, their gazes locked on something akin to understanding. “We deserve to be here. It’s our home too.”

“That’s not how the grounders see it,” Clarke shakes her head, throwing another log to the chirping fire. “We’ve been at war with them since we landed and the only reason they’re extending the courtesy of an audience is because we beat them. There isn’t a warm welcome waiting for us in TonDC.”

“Which is why you and I need to be on the same page,” Kane insists, his voice just barely above a whisper. “The fate of our people, _all of our people_ , depends on it. When we sanctioned the mission to Earth, I fully expected you all to die. I don’t deny that,” Clarke snaps her head to look at him sharply, surprised by the admission. “We’ve done wrong by you and the rest of the hundred, and it seems we’ve only made things worse since we got here. I know you think I’m controlling and dictatorial and it’s true I have been reluctant to acknowledge all you and Bellamy have accomplished down here, but I didn’t want to see our people segregated. It would be easy for me to let you have your independence. Less responsibility for me, more resources for Camp Jaha. But we’re stronger together and I can’t fix my mistakes and the Council’s wrongdoing by washing my hands of the lot of you.”

Clarke considers his words, touched by his confession and knowing that for a proud man like him it would take a lot to make it in the first place. She doesn’t interrupt him, instinctively knowing there’s more he has to say.

“That being said, I won’t fight you if you truly want your independence,” he continues, and Clarke takes in a gulp of air, not believing her ears. Kane smiles slightly. “All I ask is that your camp and ours show a united front before the grounders and any other enemy we may have in the future, and that we work together for the betterment of our people.”

Clarke nods, joy bubbling inside her. “I’ll talk about it with Bellamy,” she concedes, ever the diplomat. “But I think he’s going to like those terms as much as I do.”

Kane averts his eyes with a relieved smile, nodding.

Clarke dusts her hands on her thighs and throws her pack over her shoulder, no longer wanting to ignore the pressing call of nature. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she tells Kane tilting her head to the woods.

Understanding floods his face and, surprisingly, he blushes. He looks for someone over the small crowd, his eyes finally landing on Octavia. “Wouldn’t it be wise to take Ms. Blake with you? Or a guard? Who knows what’s out there,” he wonders, gazing at the vast woods warily.

Clarke arches an eyebrow, amused. “I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t go too far!” he calls as Clarke traipses to the edge of the clearing. She waves him away without looking back.

She doesn’t go more than twenty feet away, looking over her shoulder as she crouches behind a few bushes to take care of business. The sun has almost completely disappeared behind the horizon, but the sky is still tinted an array of reds and oranges that makes her itch to capture it on paper.

She doesn’t dally on her way back to camp, the shadows growing darker around her. The sound of a branch snapping makes her jump and twirl around, reaching defensively for the knife strapped to her boot. A squirrel scurries away and Clarke rolls her eyes, snorting a laugh at her jumpiness.

She doesn’t see the blow coming.

She doesn’t see anything after that, either.

* * *

She comes to a world of nothing.

There’s no sound. No wildlife in the woods or the rustling of the wind on leaves. No heavy steps or movement outside her tent, nor the distant clatter of people talking. Just the dizzy thoughts inside her head clamoring dimly through the cotton that seems to fill her skull and a silence so heavy and oppressive it makes her ears ring.

Her fear spikes and it must show.

“It’s okay, Clarke. You’re okay.”

Even through the odd detachment she feels from her body, she feels herself sigh. _“You’re okay, Clarke”_ he’d said however long ago as his fingers brutalized the cluster of nerves deep inside her pussy and his lips ghosted over her engorged clit, bringing her unreal amounts of pleasure. An indeterminate amount of time has passed since then, but Clarke can still feel her body warm at the memory.

The simple act of opening her eyes takes much more effort than it should, but even with her eyes open, Clarke is still at a disadvantage. The light directly above her blinds her and she blinks repeatedly until her vision clears.

She becomes aware of other things. The pulsing ache on the left side of her head, growing stronger the longer she’s awake. A hand clutching hers. Fingers gently threading through her hair. The bed beneath her, almost uncomfortably soft and pliant and nothing like her lumpy dried grass mattress, which Bellamy helps her turn over every couple of days.

The combing fingers stop at her hairline and a thumb softly caresses her forehead. The hand around hers giver hers an encouraging squeeze.

But they’re smooth. The callouses she’s so familiar with have disappeared and she irrationally mourns them. The hand tries to twine their fingers together, but they fit wrong.

Her vision clears enough that she can finally make out the features of the person beside her. But it’s not eyes the color of earth after a rainstorm that greet her, or lips she’s kissed a hundred times that smile down at her.

“Hey princess. Missed me?”

It’s Finn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How much do you hate me rn?
> 
> Please leave a comment!


	12. Ch. 12 short excerpt (unbeta’d & exclusive)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a real update. I'm sorry! The chapter is still being written, but I have a short excerpt for you and some important news. Please read bellow!

I am very pleased to inform you all that this fic has been nominated on the [Best Smut Fiction](http://bellarkefanfictionawards.tumblr.com/post/121917661817/announcing-the-nominees-for-the-general-fanfiction) category of the Bellarke Fanfiction Awards on Tumblr. Needless to say this took me quite by surprise, and I am so very thankful for having you as my readers and being recognized this way. If you want to, you can vote [here](http://bellarkefanfictionawards.tumblr.com/vote). Other categories I was nominated on are [Best Smut Author ](http://bellarkefanfictionawards.tumblr.com/post/121858476774/announcing-the-nominees-for-our-author)and [Best Fluff Author](http://bellarkefanfictionawards.tumblr.com/post/121860049756/announcing-the-nominees-for-our-author), and my fic  _[Matched](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2031153)_  was nominated on the [Tropes Section: Best ‘Arranged Marriage’ Fiction](http://bellarkefanfictionawards.tumblr.com/post/121909937808/announcing-the-nominees-for-the-tropes), so you can vote for me there as well. I think voting closes today or tomorrow so I know I'm cutting it a little too close but I honestly didn't have time to notify you guys before.

I felt really bad posting an AN here and making you think the new chapter was up when it wasn't. So here's a little unbeta'd excerpt of chapter 12 for your enjoyment ^_^

\--

The artificial glow of emergency lights casts macabre shadows on the clearing. The distant sound of methodic steps through the foliage and the occasional shout are the only things breaking the silence of the night, the woods still and muted as if neither the wind nor the wildlife dare disturb their meticulous search.

His breath fogs before his face every time he exhales, the erratic flow of it being the only indication of his agitated state.

“Sir.”

Marcus Kane swallows, briefly collecting himself before he turns around and present a stoic appearance to Major Byrne. “Anything?”

She shakes her head. “We found traces of blood behind a group of bushes and signs of a struggle, but the trail disappears after a few meters.”

Outwardly, Marcus gives no indication that the news affects him. His face is a study in stern concentration and his words and intonation enviably detached, as if he were talking about a complete stranger and not someone he’s known since she was a toddler.

“Was she dragged?” he inquires softly.

But within him, a storm rages. The possible scenarios his vivid imagination has methodically conjured up since word of Clarke’s disappearance reached him are nothing short of devastating.

“Affirmative,” Byrne intones. “We assume she was then carried as the trail runs cold.”

Marcus swiftly turns his back on her. He allows himself a moment of despair. Closes his eyes. Breathes in through his nose, out slowly past his lips. Regroups. “Major, we cannot return without Clarke Griffin. I don’t care how long it takes or how tired the men are,  _find her_.”

God help them all if they don’t. As the highest ranking official in this expedition it’s his duty to see to the protection and safe return of everyone under his command. As Abby’s personal friend, that responsibility is increased exponentially in regards to Clarke’s personal safety. He can’t imagine going back only to tell Abby her daughter has disappeared right under his nose, but knows he would rather bear the brunt of her inconsolable heartbreak and justified hatred for him than pass that obligation to anyone else.

Fury personified, Octavia Blake stomps past the tree line. “Are they giving up?” she spits out, glaring at Major Byrne.

Marcus shudders internally. Instinctively, he knows informing Bellamy Blake of Clarke’s disappearance would be similarly catastrophic as telling Abby, with the noted difference that Bellamy strikes him like the kind of person who would, at the very least, beat him unconscious after learning of his girlfriend’s unknown fate.

No one loves the messenger who brings bad news.  


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all for your support and more importantly, your patience. I can't apologize enough for keeping you waiting so long for an update. I never abandoned this fic, but I'll admit that my inspiration run a little dry. There were also a few problems with the editing that set me back a few months ago, but thankfully that has been resolved so I shouldn't keep you waiting so long between updates. That said, I do have a very demanding job and two other WIPs that demand my attention so I'll alternate updates with those. 
> 
> This chapter was originally so long - I hit the 12K mark, god help me- I had to break it in three parts. They are all written but I'm spacing the updates with at least ten days between each. 
> 
> This was beta'd by Sarah, who is a godsend and the reason my sloppy, at times illogical writing, turns out nicely. Thank you darling!
> 
> I'll shut up now and leave you to your reading. Enjoy!

The artificial glow of emergency lights casts macabre shadows on the clearing. The distant sound of calculated steps through the foliage and the occasional shouts are the only things breaking the silence of the night, the woods still and muted as if neither the wind nor the wildlife dare disturb their meticulous search.

His breath fogs before his face every time he exhales, the erratic flow of it being the only indication of his agitated state.

“Sir.”

Marcus Kane swallows, briefly collecting himself before he turns around and present a stoic appearance to Major Byrne. “Anything?”

She shakes her head. “We found traces of blood behind a group of bushes and signs of a struggle, but the trail disappears after a few meters.”

Outwardly, Marcus gives no indication that the news affects him. His face is a study in stern concentration and his words and intonation remain enviably detached, as if he were talking about a complete stranger and not someone he’s known since she was a toddler.

“Was she dragged?” he inquires mildly.

But within him, a storm rages. The possible scenarios his vivid imagination has methodically conjured up since word of Clarke’s disappearance reached him are nothing short of devastating.

“Affirmative,” Byrne intones. “We assume she was then carried as the trail runs cold.”

His lips curl with ispleasure. “With her added weight, her kidnapper’s footsteps should leave a fairly easy trail to follow.”

Byrne shifts uncomfortably and the points of her ears turn red in the faint light. “Sir. The ground is covered in pine needles sir. It’s proving difficult.”

Marcus swiftly turns his back on her. He allows himself a moment of despair. Closes his eyes. Breathes in through his nose, out slowly past his lips. Regroups. “Major, we cannot return without Clarke Griffin. I don’t care how long it takes or how difficult the task, _find her_.”

God help them all if they don’t. As the highest ranking official in this expedition it’s his duty to see to the protection and safe return of everyone under his command. As Abby’s personal friend, that responsibility is increased exponentially in regards to Clarke’s personal safety. He can’t imagine going back only to tell Abby her daughter has disappeared right under his nose, but knows he would rather bear the brunt of her inconsolable heartbreak and justified hatred for him than pass that obligation to anyone else.

Fury personified, Octavia Blake stomps past the tree line. “Are they giving up?” she spits out, glaring at Major Byrne.

Marcus shudders internally. Instinctively, he knows informing Bellamy Blake of Clarke’s disappearance would be similarly catastrophic as telling Abby, with the noted difference that Bellamy strikes him as the kind of person who would, at the very least, throw a punch at him after learning of his girlfriend’s unknown fate.

No one loves the messenger who brings bad news. 

“We can’t waste any more time. The Commander is expecting us,” Indra snarls. Beside her, Anya, their ‘prisoner’, blinks slowly. They both practically ooze disinterest, and impassive disgust. He’d be more angry if Indra’s men hadn’t contributed to the search.

“Let her wait,” Octavia snaps, fixing a deadly glare on the unimpressed grounder. Marcus internally reels back when she turns her glare on him. “I’m not leaving without Clarke.”

Indra snorts. “Then you stay.”

“Octavia,” Marcus cuts in before the argument escalates. “Indra is right. This is a diplomatic mission. We gave our word that we would meet the Commander.”

“She wants to see Clarke,” Octavia argues. “She’ll take it as an insult if anyone else shows up in her stead. Not that I care because _I’m not leaving without Clarke._ ”

“We will find her, I promise. But if we don’t make it to that meeting it won’t matter if we find her or not because the grounders will kill us all.” Marcus hears Indra make a noise of agreement. He would’ve very much preferred to be wrong on that assumption, if he’s being honest. “We will go, explain that Clarke is unavailable right now due to circumstances out of our control, and avoid turning our already tense relationship with the grounders into an actual conflict.”

He sees Octavia’s face crumble for a second, letting her fear show momentarily under her scary makeup. “But what about Clarke? She could be seriously hurt,” she whispers.

“We’ve looked,” he says wearily. “She’s nowhere around here. We don’t have enough men to leave a guard detail to continue the search while we go to TonDC.” Marcus can tell she’s gearing up say she’ll stay to look for her friend. He’ll be damned if he lets that happen. He is positive Octavia Blake can take good care of herself but he’s already lost one of his people today. He’s not taking any chances. “I would greatly appreciate it if you accompany me. You understand the grounders better than any of us. We can’t do this without you.”

Be it that he appealed to her ego or her protective instincts, Marcus will never know. But after serious consideration on her part, Octavia nods somberly, so he counts it as a win and leaves it at that.

The walk to TonDC is quiet, with everyone in high alert and keeping close together. They are weary and high-strung after a night spent searching for Clarke, but they don’t stop to rest.

At last, the village receives them warily, with narrowed eyes and weapons at the ready. They’re told to leave their guns at the gate, which Marcus resists on principle. “They won’t touch them,” Octavia assures him. “It’s against their way.”

He would argue the point, except the wariness and disdain in the grounders’ eyes when they glare at their automatic rifles can’t be faked.

Prompted by the gatekeeper, a grounder by the name of Rone, Marcus gives the order for Byrne and the rest of the guards to wait there. Anya is greeted warmly by the warriors, touching their chests and bowing their heads in deference to her rank. Indra directs him and Octavia across the village and a large open field where in the distance a gathering of tents are propped up.

They are made to wait for a while in a small tent before the Commander is ready to receive them. Refreshments are offered, but Marcus is unable to stomach anything. The fate of his people is on the line and how he acts will directly affect them.

The meeting with Lexa, the grounders’ Commander, goes as expected, which is not well at all. She receives them in her tent perched on a massive wood and bone throne, playing with a knife. Marcus hopes none of the bones on the throne are human, but his foolish optimism is dashed to pieces when he notices the skulls decorating the armrests.

As Octavia anticipated, the Commander isn’t happy that Clarke didn’t show up.

“I will not discuss terms with you,” she states in her even, impassive tone, after he introduces himself and explains that Clarke has been abducted. “Produce the one you call Clarke and then we will talk.”

“I see,” Marcus says carefully, ever the diplomat. “I understand that you requested Clarke’s presence specifically. However, while she is a highly regarded warrior and leader among my people,” he says, seeing Octavia nod slightly from the corner of her his eye. They practiced this countless times on the way here. “She’s only in charge of those who came with her and under the Chancellor’s command. She couldn’t put her word that our people as a whole would honor the terms you set even if she was here to negotiate them. She doesn’t have the authority.”

The Commander stabs the armrest with her knife and leans forward, glaring at him. “And who is this Chancellor? You?”

“He’s sky-bound,” Octavia cuts in before he has a chance to reply. “With the rest of our people. Our technology allows us to speak to him.”

Marcus schools his features keeping every sign of deceit or alert from showing. Lexa shares a pointed look with Indra and her second, a tall, fearless looking man who has not uttered a word since they arrived.

“There are more of you.”

Marcus nods. It’s a bold lie that will no doubt eventually bite them in the ass, but they have limited options and showing weakness before their enemies is not one of them. He won’t reveal that his people are stranded in a planet they’re virtually unfamiliar with and with very limited resources at their disposal. He’s not sure if projecting more power and strength than they really have will help them or get them all killed, but it’s enough to have the grounders’ Commander think twice before refusing to negotiate with them.

“And if your Chancellor has yet to drop from the sky, who leads you here?”

“We the Council follow his orders,” Marcus explains smoothly.

The Commander sits back, regarding them silently for a moment.

“You invaded my land,” Lexa says at last. “Killed three hundred of my warriors.”

“You attacked us. We fought back,” Octavia snaps.

Distant fighting noises and shouts reach them. Marcus and Octavia share a confused glance. Indra and the other warrior narrow their eyes at the entrance of the tent but the village proper is not visible from this spot.

“Which is acceptable warfare conduct, I’m sure you can agree,” Marcus says smoothly, trying to discern the strange sounds. Some of them even sound like gunshots. “Your lieutenant here, Anya, who can also testify to being exemplarily treated while imprisoned…” he rushes to assure, receiving a curt nod of acknowledgement from her in turn. “… claimed my people have won this territory by your people’s laws of war. We weren’t expecting to find survivors when we sent down our first ship or we would’ve handled things more delicately. We don’t want any more conflict. We just want to live in peace with you.”

The Commander leans back on her throne, hooded eyes clapped on them. Marcus recognizes this as the moment of truth. She will either acquiesce or call their bluff and terminate the negotiation and, possibly, their lives. “Peace doesn’t come so easy.”

She looks at her second and raises her chin in their direction. Marcus’ heart sinks. They left the guards outside before he and Octavia entered the Commander’s tent, in an effort to show good faith and keep things civil. They are also unarmed, having relinquished their weapons upon entering the village. So when the Commander’s second and three other warriors advance on him and Octavia, they are virtually helpless.

“Shit,” she curses under her breath, glaring at a sour-faced Indra.

Four warriors circle them, forcing them to get shoulder to shoulder. The Commander’s second advances on Marcus while the other three make a move to attack Octavia.

A blood-curling cry of alarm heralds the arrival of a young warrior, running as if hellhounds were chasing after him. The sound abruptly dies on his lips as the warrior is tackled from behind, taking him and his attacker hurtling to the ground. The newcomer effortlessly gains the upper hand and knocks the young warrior unconscious with a blow to the side of his head before jumping to his feet in superb speed.

Octavia gasps next to him, the sound muffled by Lexa’s furious barking. Bellamy Blake, rifle trained steadily on the Commander, stands there, face bruised and bloody and primed for battle.

The Commander’s second makes a sudden move and grips a distracted Octavia’s arm. Bellamy’s eyes flash like thunder and his lips curl into a snarl.

“Hands off her.”

Three teenagers from the dropship crowd the entrance of the tent fanned out behind him. While he keeps his aim on the Commander, two of the others have the rest of the grounders on their sights. The third girl, a redhead with her hair woven in intricate braids has her back to them, safeguarding them from outside attacks.

Lexa looks furious, which is a stark contrast to the serene lack of emotion she’s shown since they met her.

Bellamy quickly glances around the inside of the tent with a scowl. His grip on the rifle is steady and true and Marcus feels irrationally proud. “Where’s Clarke?”

Marcus shares a panicked look with Octavia, and braces himself for the storm that’s about to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Fear not, Bellamy's POV is up next.
> 
> Please leave a comment! I miss talking to you. I promise I will reply to each and everyone this time <3


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you didn’t think I’d keep my promise to update within 10 days. That’s okay. I have a less than stellar record lol
> 
> Anyway here we are. I want to thank you all for reading and leaving kudos and such wonderful comments. I had the most fun writing Bellamy’s POV so I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Beta’d by Sarah (writingaloveaffair on tumblr). This would not be the same without your help and input. Thank you!
> 
> One last thing: I haven’t been able to watch the new season of The 100 yet and won’t get around to do it until Sunday. So, as I am actively staying away from spoilers, please don’t tell me anything!

**Twelve hours earlier.**

“Got some good news?”

“Define ‘good’.”

Bellamy rubs the sleep off his eyes, and blinks away the blurriness and gritty feeling. “As in _worth you hauling me from bed in the middle of the night_ , good.”

Miller nods. “Got it.” He licks his lips in preparation and smacks them together obnoxiously.

Bellamy mildly fantasizes punching him if he doesn’t get on with the program soon. He appreciates Miller’s diligent attitude as they were not expecting him to return so soon from his mission to hack Mount Weather. It’s the middle of the night and everything indicates Miller fairly run all the way back to camp – he is sweaty and smells, visibly rumpled and winded, but also more excited than anyone has a right to be at this late hour. Bellamy had trouble falling asleep, reaching out for Clarke as he dozed only to grimly remember she wasn’t there with him. It seems only minutes had passed since he finally fell into a deep sleep that he was being roused from bed with the news that Miller was back.

All in all, his patience is in short supply.

“Okay, so the Mountain Men?” Miller starts. Finally. “They’re actually fucking crazy. I hackedheir network and their security is tight man; forget about sneaking in undetected. We’re gonna have to cause some major system breakdown to lower their defenses and storm in while we can. They’re completely hermetic and their ventilation system is so fucked up I’m not sure how it works, but it filters out the radiation in the air. Containment breaches happen rarely as far as I can tell.”

“Why would they need that? The air’s fine.” An idea crosses Bellamy’s mind and his interest perks up, thinking of a potential weakness. “That Mountain Man I questioned when we went looking for Finn and Monty, he was wearing a hazmat suit and looked terrified when I teared off his mask. Is it possible that the residual radiation affects them?”

“Getting there,” Miller stops him before he can get excited. He taps his father’s guard issued tablet, the one he borrowed to hack into Mount Weather to weasel info out, and hands the device over to Bellamy. “I was looking at the blueprints and noticed there’s this huge ass unmarked section with no apparent use adjacent to the medical wing.”

Bellamy frowns at the screen, studying the blueprints.

“Remember that entrance we found on the Reaper tunnels?”

His frown grows to a gloomy scowl. With his thumb and middle finger he amplifies the image on the tablet’s screen. “It opens to the unmarked area.”

Miller nearly claps with excitement. “Exactly. And there’s a disposal shaft here too that also leads to another part of the tunnels. So I accessed their medical files, looking for a clue to discover this section’s purpose. Guess what I found?”

Nothing good, Bellamy bets.

“There was a bunch of medical crap I didn’t understand, but the gist of it is basically they have really poor health and apparently can’t metabolize radiation the same way we or the grounders can. Don’t know why, don’t really care. So their solution is, get this,” Miller stops theatrically, for effect. “They transfuse blood with the necessary antibodies into their bloodstream and flush out all the toxins. Like a radioactive dialysis.”

A beat of silence. “That sounds medically impossible,” Bellamy says flatly.

Miller huffs in agreement. “Beats me, but apparently it’s a thing. The files are all there and the info seems legit as far as I can tell.”

“If they can’t metabolize radiation, where are they getting blood donors for the transfusions?”

Miller signals to the device in Bellamy’s hand. “Subjects are processed on this antechamber,” he points to the small closed-off space before the door that opens to the tunnels. “Containment starts at this door here, and they’re tagged and stored in this section,” he swipes his index above three of the four walls that make the unmarked section. “Where they’re also harvested. Depending the case, samples are stored or taken fresh through these conduits to the medical area where patients receive their treatments.”

Bellamy’s stomach takes a trip down a bottomless elevator shaft. “Subjects?”

“Grounders,” Miller confirms solemnly. “They call them Outsiders in their files though. They bleed them dry to stay alive. Like vampires, basically.”

Bellamy frowns, trying to wrap his head around the information Miller gave him. “I’m no doctor, but none of this sounds like actual science. Monroe!”

The redhead girl ducks her head into the tent. “Yes, Bellamy?”

“Get Dr. Griffin, please.”

“On it.”

“I found something else,” Nathan continues. “You know how I said they processed the grounders here and then stored the ones marked for harvest? The ones who weren’t got tagged with ID chips and marked for something called the Cerberus program.”

“Cerberus,” Bellamy frowns. “The three headed dog that guards the gates of hell.”

Miller blinks. “Oh. Yeah that would make sense. Shit.”

“What’s the Cerberus program?”

“Okay, those files were encrypted but I managed to gain access. Far as I can tell, those unlucky grounders were administered some experimental drug and their progress was closely studied while they performed several tests. And by tests, I mean torture,” Miller says bitterly. “Half of them didn’t make it through the trials.”

“What happened to the ones who did?” Bellamy asks with increasing apprehension.

“They are released. They check in periodically to receive new dosses, and each visit coincides with each new influx of grounders. There’s some security video footage as well that confirms the dates.”

Bellamy sighs somberly. “So Murphy was right. The Reapers are working with the Mountain Men.”

“Seems like it. How did he know that, by the way?” Miller wonders.

“The grounder assigned to keep an eye on him during the battle took him infield. They were set upon by Reapers and he recognized one of them as his long-lost brother. He allowed him to capture them and take them to the tunnels. Murphy sneaked away while the Mountain Men were distracted inspecting the other captured grounders. His story checks out.”

“That fucker.”

Bellamy smiles, agreeing with Miller’s sentiment.

Miller hesitates, his lips in a tight, grim line. “There’s something else.”

He touches an icon on the tablet and accesses the Cerberus files. A list of number IDs pops up and he selects the latest one. A medical file and a picture appear and Bellamy curses under his breath.

It’s Lincoln. They turned his sister’s boyfriend into a fucking Reaper.

“His trial is still in progress, so he’s probably still inside Mount Weather,” Miller says tactfully.

Rustling of the tent flap heralds Abby’s entrance. “You called?” she asks, directing the full force of her glare at Bellamy.

He wouldn’t respond well to being summoned by her in the middle of the night either, so he doesn’t take it personally.

“We need an expert’s opinion,” he hands her the tablet as she warily approaches him. “Get some rest,” he tells Miller.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he grins and mockingly salutes Bellamy before stomping to the exit. He stops just short of leaving and snaps his fingers. “I almost forgot. There’s a folder within the security specs named ‘the veil’. I couldn’t figure out what the hell it is but there are a bunch of chemical formulas and engineer protocols in it.”

Bellamy nods. “I’ll get Raven and Jasper on it.”

He gives Abby the short version of everything Miller has told him while she peruses the medical files extensively. “This can’t be possible,” she says at last, frowning at the tablet.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“It seems right out of a science-fiction novel. And not a particularly good one.”

Bellamy smiles at the joke, before a thought sobers him up. “Do you think they could be faking it? That they somehow knew we were hacking their systems and made it all up as a distraction?

Abby shakes her head, scowling. She looks at Bellamy. “They couldn’t fabricate this on a short notice. The data spans decades Bellamy, every step, every experiment carefully detailed. But it can’t be,” she looks at him, hopeless. “It can’t work – it shouldn’t work. A blood transfusion cannot cure radiation poisoning. If they are as susceptible to radiation as their medical files indicate, then they shouldn’t be able to withstand the transfusions. By this accounts, they are basically injecting themselves with radioactive blood to rid themselves of radiation. It shouldn’t be possible.”

Bellamy waits silently. It’s clear she’s not finished with her train of thought.

“It could be a case of mass delusion.  They think the transfusions are healing them when they’re not affected by radiation in reality. I –” Abby lets out a shocked, brittle laugh. “I don’t know.”

“But even if that’s the case, you think the data is legit?” Bellamy asks.

“I – yes, I suppose it is.”

“Then that means they _are_ capturing grounders and bleeding them dry.”

She narrows her eyes at him when he’s kept quiet or too long. “What are you thinking?”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend right?” he shrugs. “Once we take this information to the grounders’ commander, they won’t refuse an alliance.”

“And we’d be at war with Mount Weather,” Abby points out with a frown. “Do you think that’s wise? They have technology and resources we can only dream of.”

Bellamy nods, considering her point of view. “By all accounts, they’ve been kicking the grounders’ ass for half a century. We’d be aligning ourselves with the losing side.”

“But if we side with Mount Weather…” Abby continues, worrying the inside of her cheek. “…we’d be supporting the systematic genocide of an entire race.”

“Not to mention we don’t _have_ anything the Mountain Men want to bargain with.”

They share a resigned look.

“You should get some rest before you leave if you want to catch Clarke before they start negotiations,” Abby decides with a curt nod, handing the tablet back to him.

Bellamy stares at her, surprised. “You’re not insisting on coming?”

She offers him a genuine if somewhat tired smile. “I think you’ve got it under control.”

That sounded a lot like a compliment, and Bellamy’s going to fucking take it. “Thanks. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep though. Octavia left a map so I think I’ll just gather a few people and head out.”

She nods. “Meet me at the armory before you leave.”

His face must give away his shock. Is she seriously saying that she’ll give him guns?

She stops on her way out and stares at him over her shoulder. “Don’t make me regret my decision.”

He takes Monroe, Sterling and Harper, and Murphy as well because the grounder commander might want to hear his testimony. Sargent Miller hands them handguns and automatic rifles and ammo clips under Dr. Griffin’s watchful eye. Bellamy has gotten used to his bow and actually prefers it for hunting, but the familiar weight of the rifle slung over his shoulder feels like a missing puzzle piece slotting into place. It feels so natural, as if it were a deadly extension of his body, one to be treated with care and respect.

Sargent Miller also gives Bellamy an electric rod. This one he takes gingerly. He hasn’t touched one – willingly that is – since he was demoted from the guard.

It starts raining around dawn, no more than a persistent drizzle that dampens their clothes and turns everything muggy around them. By mid-morning it picks up and heavy drops land on them as they march to the grounder village under a forecast sky riddled with thunder.

About halfway there they reach a clearing, where they estimate Clarke, Octavia and the others spent the night given the time and distance between that spot and their camp. The surrounding area is covered in pine needles, making their trek soft and silent, but the muddy dirt of the clearing is trampled in a dozen different footprints coming and going in all directions. There’s no evidence of a fire or of anyone lying down to sleep though.

“What did they do, dance all over the place?” Sterling asks frowning at the evidence of activity.

“They probably just kept going and stopped further ahead,” Harper shrugs.

“I’m no tracker, but the footprints head out and back into the clearing in groups of two,” Murphy indicated, signaling with his tied hands.

Bellamy stares at the tracks and notices several palm sized holes dug deep in the ground where the emergency lights the guard travels with would’ve fit. Clarke and the others obviously spent some time here, but not sleeping or resting.

“No one asked you,” he snaps half-heartedly at Murphy while he continues to frown at the tracks, completely missing him rolling his eyes dramatically. “Let’s keep going.”

They continue on, munching on meat jerky and silently cursing the drizzling rain.

“I think something’s wrong with the radio,” Sterling says when they are close to reaching the village.

He hands it to Bellamy who listens carefully to the chirping sounds. “That’s Morse code. I recognize the call sign from the Guard.”

The others gather around him and Bellamy signals back that the line is available, using both the general signal and the coded one he was given while he was a guard. Seconds later Major Byrne’s voice comes across the airwaves. _“Blake,”_ the relief sounds thick in her voice. _“Thank God. We’re in trouble.”_

“What happened?” he asks anxiously.

_“The grounders lured us into a trap once we entered their village. They took our guns. We’re locked up in a subterranean room.”_

“Is everyone with you?”

She takes a long moment before answering and Bellamy’s gut wrenches. _“No. Chancellor Kane and your sister were taken to the Commander as soon as we arrived and we haven’t seen them since. It happened too fast.”_

“And Clarke?” Bellamy presses.

 _“She’s not with my group,”_ she says slowly, her voice deformed by the static. _“You better get here fast and bring reinforcements."_

Bellamy looks around to the grim faces of Harper, Monroe and Sterling. Murphy, sitting on a rock a little ways off, pretends not to listen to the conversation.

“We’re actually not too far from the village. How did they take your guns?”

The radio stays silent for a long minute. _“I can’t talk, they’re watching us,”_ Byrne says in a hurried hush. _“They’ll ask for your weapons. Don’t give them up. We’re counting on you Blake.”_

The line goes dead and Bellamy experiences a surge of fear. His sister and Clarke could be being tortured right now.

“Why would they just give up their guns?” Sterling shakes his head.

“Some old cultures considered it rude for their visitors to carry weapons into their homes,” Harper speculates tentatively. “Maybe Kane did it out of respect.”

They continue on their way, advancing with caution. It’s become clear that the meeting was only a ruse to capture them and that peace was never on the table. Bellamy never stopped being wary of the grounders’ intentions, but he’d hoped he was wrong. Anya said their commander would accept their claim on the territory after they defeated her and Tristan’s army, but apparently she can just as easily refuse to. Octavia was pretty confident in the grounders’ good intentions, but then again she always sees the best in people. A direct opposite, it’s in Bellamy’s nature to expect the worst at all times.

At last they make it to the village. A short distance away from them, TonDC rises from the foliage like a silent fort.

“Anyone else have a bad feeling about this?” Harper asks lowly, kneeling beside him behind some bushes.

Stone-faced, Murphy raises his bound hands in mute agreement.

Monroe holsters her handgun. “I’ll take a quick look.”

She’s climbing the tallest tree near them in a flash. Murphy scoots closer to Bellamy and holds out his tied hands. “Do I get a gun now?”

Bellamy ignores him.

Monroe silently drops next to them and shakes her head. “There are a few buildings near the gate and several tents on the field bellow.”

Bellamy nods, nearly vibrating with anxiety. “We need a plan.”

“There’s no way we can make it past the gate undetected,” Murphy says, ever the mood dampener. “And even if there’s a hidden evac passage I doubt we’ll be able to find it on time.”

Bellamy takes a moment to think. “Okay. I have a plan but I’m gonna need everyone to trust me and follow my lead.” Three nods of ascent follow his statement, and a non-comital noise from Murphy.

They break through the bush noisily, drawing the attention of the lookouts.

“Hey,” Bellamy calls out when they’re a few feet off the gate. “We’re here for the meeting. Our people were supposed to arrive earlier.”

The lookouts, one at every side of the gate, glance at each other. One of them nods and shouts a command behind him in their language. The gate opens a fraction, a grounder armed to the teeth waiting on the other side.

“I am Rone,” he says in careful, stilted English. “You must relinquish your weapons if you wish to enter.”

Bellamy frowns. “Why?”

“It is our way.”

He arches his brow in an expression of surprise. “We didn’t demand your people to do that when they visited our camp a couple of days ago.”

Rone sneers, unimpressed. “That is not my concern.”

“I’m just saying, you could extend the same courtesy. We _are_ here for peace talks, after all.”

“You would meet an ally armed with those?” Rone snarls, jutting his chin at the rifle slung in repose over Bellamy’s shoulder.

Bellamy slaps on his face the most innocent look he can muster. “You would invite people to your village to discuss peace and insist they surrender their only means to protect themselves if it turs sour? I don’t see you or your people relinquishing your weapons to make us feel welcome.”

The grounder glowers at him. “Your leader has already agreed. You must follow his command if you wish to enter.”

“I don’t follow idiotic orders,” he states. “Come on, man. Let us through. There’s four of us, this one’s tied up,” he gestures at Murphy who in turn snorts and holds up his bound hands wiggling his fingers. “What could we possibly do against all of you? Put yourself in our place. Wouldn’t you feel better if you kept your weapons when you walked into an unfamiliar place?”

Rone’s frown deepens, but he moves to the side and the gate automatically opens wider. “Your feelings are a hindrance, warrior. You better learn to dispose of them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

They march through the gate in a closed unit with Bellamy front and center, Monroe an Harper flanking him, a taciturn Murphy dragging his feet directly behind him and Sterling closing the rear.

Some hiding in low buildings and others staying out of the way while they go about their daily chores, old grounders, children and women watch upon them with wary eyes. A dozen warriors, men and women covered in tattoos and scars surround them in a wide semicircle. Off in the distance away from the village proper the smattering of tents Monroe mentioned sit solemnly, the largest one standing proudly among them.

“That way?” Bellamy asks to no one in particular, assuming that’s where the commander is staying.

Rone advances on him. “Not so fast.”

Despite being primed for an attack and on high alert, Bellamy lets him get the drop on him and receives a blow for it. Pain explodes on his cheek and he feels the skin break and warm blood rivulet down his face. His eyes zero in on Rone’s left hand and the brass knuckles dripping with his blood. Fucker. If the grounder had hit him a couple of inches higher on his temple, Bellamy would’ve been knocked unconscious.

He shoves Rone back, throwing the larger and older man off balance. In one swift motion, Bellamy slips out his electric rod, swings it open and shock-lashes the grounder. Rone lets out a blood-curling cry and drops to the ground, writhing in pain.

Chaos explodes around them. Monroe and Sterling shout orders to the enraged grounder warriors to stay back and fire shots at their legs to incapacitate them while Murphy wisely skirts trouble. Bellamy takes on two female warriors and they meet the same fate as Rone. He fights back to back with Harper, fending off grounders.

Despite their efforts, grounders close in on them. He shares a look with Harper, counts the shots Monroe and Sterling have fired and knows they can’t hold on much longer.

Luckily they don’t have to. Led by Murphy, Byrne and the other guards emerge from the underground prison they’d been held in and attack the unsuspecting grounders using the element of surprise to subdue them. Bellamy locks eyes with Byrne and throws his electric rod her way, grabbing his rifle and slamming the butt on the grounder nearest to him. She catches it in the air easily and with deadly grace takes down three grounders. Out the corner of his eye, Bellamy sees Murphy has raided the crate and swiftly woven between the fighting bodies and distributed the firearms among the guards.

“We got this!” Byrne shouts over the battle and tilts her head to the tent in the distance. “Go!”

Bellamy raises his fist in the air to signal his departure and takes off, followed by Monroe, Harper, Sterling and Murphy. The tent is far enough that sounds of the battle wouldn’t have necessarily reached them. A young, lithe warrior runs ahead of them nearly halfway to the tent shouting the alarm. Bellamy’s feet pound on the ground as they eat the distance, bringing him closer to the running warrior and the tent.

They reach it at the same time, a cry to his commander on the grounder’s lips that cuts off when Bellamy rams into him and knocks him down, delivering a blow to his head that renders him unconscious.

Activity stops inside the tent as Bellamy barrels in with his rifle ready. He takes one cursory glance and sees Kane and Octavia standing shoulder to shoulder and a small group of grounders closing in on them, with one of them gripping her arm. Perched on a wood throne a young woman he assumes is the grounder commander glares at him as she barks orders in their tongue rapidly.

Bellamy’s adrenaline amps up as he lines the shot to the commanders’ head, ready to pull the trigger if necessary.

“Hands off her,” he growls.

Panting, Sterling and Harper sidle up next to Bellamy and they move forward. He keeps his rifle trained on the commander, his finger itching against the trigger while the others move into position. Monroe guards their rear, keeping an eye on the dying battle by the village’s gate.

Fury darkens the commander’s face before she stomps it down and masks her features on a look of mild irritation. Bellamy scans the tent with a scowl, feeling his heart bottom out and blood rush to his ears. His muscles threaten to slacken and let his arm fall but his training kicks in, keeping his grip on the rifle steady and trained on his target. “Where’s Clarke?” he growls, barely containing his fury.

Out of the corner of his eye he catches Kane and Octavia glancing at each other, but he doesn’t take off his eyes off the commander. 

“She’s not here,” Octavia says curtly. “We’ll explain later, big brother.”

Bellamy slowly creeps up alongside Kane, followed by Monroe and Sterling. The four warriors take a step back, casting glares at their firearms. He stops next to Kane and cocks his head back. “Handgun.”

Kane hurries to grab the weapon from his back holster.

“Call them off,” Bellamy orders, glaring at Lexa.

“You will not leave this tent alive,” she sneers.

He doesn’t think twice before pulling the trigger. The shot cracks like thunder in the tent, the bullet lodging firmly on the back of the commander’s throne, so close to her face splinters land in her hair. “Neither will you,” Bellamy replies. “I’m a good shot, just ask her,” he nods at Anya, who absentmindedly rubs her right palm. “I’m not gonna miss next time, so call your people off.”

After brief hesitation, she does.

“Murphy,” Bellamy calls and he appears, bearing a smirk and a long length of rope. While he’s busy tying up Lexa and her people together, Bellamy instructs Monroe to go back to Byrne and make sure the guard detail has everything under control. “If anyone gives you shit, inform them I’ve got a gun pointed at their commander’s head and I’m itching to pull the trigger.”

They leave Indra, Anya and the other warriors tied up to one of the tent’s post and move together as a unit until they reach the end of the village, dragging the commander with them at gun point. Byrne and the rest of the guard are expecting them, the warriors and villagers tied up together and corralled in a pig pen. Lexa walks with her head proudly held high.

“This concludes our peace talks for the day,” Bellamy tells her once they reach the gate. “We’ll be in touch. _Don’t_ follow us.”

They march calmly until they reach the tree line. Then, in unison, they start running as if the fires of hell were licking their heels and don’t stop until they’re a safe distance from TonDC.

Bellamy drops his hands to his knees and struggles to drag air to his lungs. “Now will you please tell me where the hell is Clarke?” he pants.

Octavia hesitates. “Yeah – there’s no easy way to say this and you’re definitely going to lose your shit, so here goes.” She pauses, her features twisting to a pained look. Pity swims in her eyes. “Clarke was taken last night. We found blood and signs of a struggle but the trail went cold. We looked for her everywhere, but she’s gone.”

“Gone?” his voice cuts through the eerie silence surrounding him. Everyone around him holds perfectly still, waiting with bated breath for his reaction. “Gone _where_?”

“We don’t know,” Kane says. “We are almost certain she wasn’t taken by grounders. The Mountain Men or Reapers possibly – ”

“And you’re telling me _now_?” Bellamy snarls. “You have a radio! I could’ve gotten here faster!”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” Octavia squeezes his shoulder.

Seething with fury at the very thought of the danger Clarke could be in right now and the time they’d already wasted, Bellamy brushes her off. “And where were you when she was taken?”

Octavia reels back.

Kane steps before him. “It’s my fault. Clarke told me was going to the bathroom and brushed off my suggestion to go with someone but I should’ve insisted – ”

“Damn right you should’ve!” Bellamy takes a ragged breath, rubbing a hand down his face. “So what, she was taken and you just shrugged, call it a day and go meet the grounders? While you were trying to make nice with them, Clarke could have been tortured. She could be _dead_ right now –” his voice breaks. Dread fills him and he leans on the closest tree for support as his own words register on the most awful way. “We have to find her. We have to go _right now_ ,” he decides urgently.

“We will, Bell. But we need to be smart about this,” Octavia addresses him roughly. “You need to shake this off and think, okay? We don’t even know where she is and we need to make a plan.”

Gulping down the fear and panic clogging his throat, Bellamy struggles to get a hold of his emotions. “If the grounders don’t have her, then it’s got be the Mountain Men,” he states.

Kane frowns slightly, considering the possibility. “What makes you think that?”

There’s too much he hasn’t told them yet, all the information they uncovered from hacking into their systems, the veracity of Murphy’s testimony and Lincoln's capture. He has to explain everything in detail and think rationally to come up with a plan to save Clarke like Octavia said, but the truth is that Bellamy feels ravaged to his very core and wants to do nothing other than running straight to that mountain and burn it down to the ground to get to Clarke, and to hell with everyone in it.

“Bellamy?”

“What?” he snaps.

Monroe almost takes a step back, but holds her ground. “Miller’s on the radio.”

She hands him the device and Bellamy takes it, noticing the tremor in his hand. “Thanks. Sorry,” he says with a curt nod.

She gives him a sad smile. “We’ll get her back.”

He clicks on the com button. “Miller.”

 _“Hey man. You make it to TonDC yet?”_ he asks through the link, his voice deformed by static and interference.

“I don’t have time to chitchat. What’s up?”

_“Got it. We found a way to sneak into Mount Weather undetected, I figured you’d want to know right away.”_

The words resonate in his ears and a kind of hope flourishes inside him. Now more than ever, he needs a way in. “I thought you said that we’d need some sort of system failure to create a distraction.”

 _“He’s as unimaginative as he’s pretty,”_ Raven’s voice cuts in. _“You should leave the actual thinking to me. It’s clear I’m the brains in this operation.”_

_“I hacked into the government. I have brains.”_

_“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”_

“The point?” Bellamy growls impatiently.

 _“There’s an emergency route that runs the side of the military base. It has access to every level. Given the inclination, I’m thinking staircase shaft. It can be accessed by the engine room at the dam,”_ Miller explains.

“And you didn’t mention this before because?”

_“You need a keycard.”_

“Can’t you hack it?”

_“No. The system would recognize any tampering with the locks and go into full lock-down. That means no touching the wiring and no entering the code manually.”_

_“And this is where I save the day,”_ Raven states confidently. By the sound of it and Miller’s muffled groan, she shoved him off his seat to get closer to the radio. _“I can clone a keycard and dump in it all the clearance codes needed to move within the base, I just need some equipment. I contacted Sinclair and Wick in Camp Jaha and they have what I need.”_

 _“We’re leaving at first light,”_ Miller adds. _“Once we have the keycard you can send someone in and sneak out Finn and Monty.”_

Bellamy dares to feel hope surge inside him. “Go now,” he tells them. It’s barely past noon, if they haul ass they can make it just after nightfall. Every second they waste is time Clarke is in danger. “The Mountain Men took Clarke. We need to hurry.”

 _“What?!”_ Raven barks.

 _“We’ll get right on it,”_ Miller says somberly. _“Stay strong man.”_

With that the communication ends, leaving Bellamy breathing heavily.

“We need to get out of here,” Octavia urges, pulling on his sleeve. “Lexa probably has her people on our trail by now.”

“We should go directly to Camp Jaha and meet your friends there,” Kane suggests.

Bellamy nods, his lips pursed to a grim, tight line. They start marching once again, their pace brisk and eyes open for danger, but Bellamy for once pays no attention to the path. Instead, his gaze finds the hulking mass that is Mount Weather, peaking in the distance through the treetops. “I’ll find you, princess.”

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's POV up next. I'd love to hear your feedback, particularly about the science stuff, so please leave a comment !


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am all caught up with season 3 so the spoilers ban is lifted. Also, I am uPSET.
> 
> Beta'd by Sarah (writingaloveaffair on tumblr) who continues to be awesome and patient and invariably lets me know when things work and when they don't. Thank you!

_Sometime later._

“I still need to run some tests, but everything indicates you’re in perfect health. That’s a pretty bad concussion you have, but rest will take care of it.”

“What about those bruises on her wrists? They seem pretty bad. Are you _sure_ she didn’t sprain something?”

Clarke protectively touches her wrists. The wide circlets, an array of light purple fading into green, don’t hurt unless poked unnecessarily _hard_ , which Finn and the doctor have already done. They’re just a little souvenir from her last night with Bellamy and the heights of passion they found together, and all she has left of him right now. He hadn’t tied her tight enough to cause serious damage, but Clarke distinctly remembers thrashing wildly during their last long bout of lovemaking. The morning after, before attending to their duties, Clarke mixed a salve of arnica, yarrow and chamomile and watched as Bellamy tenderly applied the salve to her wrists.

Longing fists around her heart at the memory.

Beside her, Finn looks at her with fear and worry sketched over every plane of his face.

“They’re superficial,” the woman, who introduced herself as Doctor Tsing, assures him with an indulgent smile. Finn has expressed concern about the bruises wrapped around Clarke’s wrists four times now. She thinks it’s cute that he’s so worried about her and allowed him to stay and hover around Clarke during her examination. He acts like she’s made of spun glass and would break in his absence.

“I’m more concerned about my head,” Clarke bites out. “ _How_ I was injured in the first place and how I got here, more specifically.”

The time she spent unconscious coupled with the sedative they gave her and their vagueness when answering her questions, have left Clarke without a clear understanding of how long exactly she’s been here. She knows she was taken at sundown, but since they’re underground she has no way of detecting the passing of time other than trust their clocks. Those indicate it’s been three hours since she woke up on the quarantine ward of Mount Weather, but she has no way of knowing exactly how long she was unconscious.  The blow to the back of her head was bad enough to knock her out cold and require stitches yet when she felt the area upon awakening, it wasn’t swollen and the skin around the stitches held well when she pulled gently.

She was also scrubbed clean and wearing different clothing. Some unknown person had undressed her and bathed her while she was out. Her stomach revolts and her skin crawls when she thinks about that so Clarke tries to do that as little as possible.

Assuming she got medical attention directly following her abduction, and considering the state of her injury and the progress of her wrist bruises, two to four days have passed since she was taken. Her gut tells her it’s been much longer. A concussion wouldn’t be responsible for keeping her unconscious that long, meaning she was probably sedated most of the time.

“Unfortunately I don’t have an answer for you,” Dr. Tsing shakes her head regretfully. “Our surface patrol found you by chance and brought you to us immediately. Perhaps you fell and hit your head.”

Finn nods emphatically and squeezes her hand. “You’d be dead if they hadn’t brought you in.”

Clarke resists the impulse to roll her eyes and gently pulls her hand away from his. “I didn’t fall, I was attacked. I remember that much.”

“Then it’s a good thing they found you,” Finn insists, hugging her to his side as if in an attempt to comfort her.

“You can’t be that naïve,” Clarke shrugs him off and pins a glare on the doctor. “Your people did this to me. You abducted me.”

She ignores Finn’s alarmed exclamation of her name in favor of studying Dr. Tsing’s reaction. The woman’s eyebrows arch up, but the rest of her face remains placid. She doesn’t look surprised, exactly, but she doesn’t look worried either, not like Clarke would expect her to look when caught practically red-handed.

“If you were attacked, then it was at hands of the Outsiders. They must’ve left you for dead before our patrol rescued you.”

“If the Grounders wanted me dead, I’d _be_ dead.”

Dr. Tsing smiles and shares a somewhat amused look with Finn. It unnerves Clarke. “Your friend here was very reticent of us at first too. Perhaps like him you’ll realize in time that we mean you no harm.”

“I doubt that. Where’s Monty?”

“Clarke,” Finn squeezes her shoulder warningly. “I’ll take you to see him later, okay? During visiting hours.”

Before she can protest the door to the medical room opens and a pale, dark haired girl inches in.

“Ah, Maya. Just in time for your treatment,” Dr. Tsing signals for the girl to come in and directs her to an empty bed.

“There’re clothes here for you,” Finn says, rolling a large trunk towards her. “President Wallace is expecting us for lunch. He wants us to sit at his table.” The excitement clear in his voice has the opposite reaction on Clarke, leaving her dreading the encounter. “I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.” He cups her neck and drops a kiss to the top of her head, affectionate. “Wear something nice,” he says teasingly, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

His touch makes Clarke’s skin crawl and her stomach recoil a little, though that might be the lingering effects of her concussion and the sedatives.

But, watching him charmingly offer his arms to Dr. Tsing as they exit the room chatting amiably, she knows it’s not.

Heaving a weary sigh, Clarke rubs a hand down her face. She has so many questions, so much she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t believe for a second that the Mountain Men happened to find her ‘by chance’ and brought her to their home base out of the goodness of their hearts.

Anya painted the Mountain Men as ruthless and hell bent on exterminating her people. Lincoln also told Octavia that they were to be feared. And Murphy insisted that the Reapers who had taken him and the grounder guarding him were working with the Mountain Men.

They took Monty and Finn before, and the Mountain Man Bellamy interrogated indicated that their time was running out. She hasn’t seen any sign of Monty and her questions about him have gone unanswered other than Finn’s promise to take her to see him during visiting hours, whatever that means. And Finn… he doesn’t act like someone who’s been deprived of freedom. He seems comfortable and at ease here.

All the information she has points to these people being a threat, and the circumstances of her abduction, or rather the vagueness of them feed into her gut feeling. This place is dangerous and she needs to find a way out.

Inside the trunk there are clothes the likes of which she has never seen much less worn. Back on the Ark, all the clothes were serviceable and utilitarian. There was no use for fancy dresses or high heels upon evacuating Earth. Some relics remained but they were jealously guarded and worn only on special occasions. Her mother had been married on one such dress passed down from her mother in law. Clarke only saw it once when she was eight. It was encased in a plastic bag for preservation and her mother promised she’d get to wear it on her wedding day. It was likely destroyed when the Ark came down.

The temptation to slip on the silky confections offered to her is great, but practicality wins out. Clarke selects the only pair of pants available, a pale blue jogging suit, and running shoes. She dresses hurriedly, pressed to be completely clothed by the time Finn arrives to fetch her.

She eyes a pair of stilettos with interest. The heel is sharp enough to cause a lot of damage. She grabs it, testing it. With just the right amount of strength she’s sure she can break it off and hide it up her sleeve…

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Clarke nearly jumps off her skin. She completely forgot about the girl occupying the bed on the other side of the room.

“They’d find out and consider you a threat.”

Clarke reluctantly puts the heel back. “Maya, is it? I’m Clarke.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says with a little smile.

Her gown is open at the front revealing a dialysis valve where two clear tubes connect her to a panel over the bed. Noticing Clarke’s interest, Maya glances up to the panel and grimaces, sadness shrouding her eyes. “A necessary evil, or so they say.”

Despite herself, Clarke moves closer to Maya’s bed driven by her curiosity. “What’s wrong with you?”

She shrugs delicately. “Same as everyone here. Radiation poisoning.”

“And this helps?” Clarke asks. She searches around the bed for a medical chart.

Maya looks away. “It does.” Her eyes find Clarke’s again, but this time they’re narrowed, considering her. “But we pay too high a price for it if you ask me,” she says carefully, softly, as if afraid to be heard but wanting to give Clarke the words as loud and clear as possible just the same.

Clarke frowns. “I don’t understand.”

Maya nods at the blood conduits. “Follow it and you will.”

Clarke opens her mouth to question her further but is interrupted by Finn ducking his head into the room. “Are you ready? We’re going to be late.”

“Just a second,” Clarke calls out to him.

He stares at Maya with his lips pressed to a grim line. Instead of waiting in the hallway, he opens the door fully and doggedly stands there waiting for Clarke.

Before she moves away from Maya’s bed, Clarke feels her cold hand urgently grip her wrist and squeeze for a fraction of a second before dropping it and turning away.

It was a warning. Of what, Clarke isn’t sure. But she intends to heed it at all costs.

* * *

Clarke covertly observes the people around the hall. Lunchtime is in full swing. Upon entering and being seated at the high table at the right of President Wallace, she’d watched waiters and kitchen staff march in carrying platters piled high with succulent food. Their eating ritual is like nothing she’s ever seen except in old movies. The initial prayer, the impeccable manners, the precise seating arrangements by rank. It’s all unfamiliar. Meals back on the Ark were unceremonious and only served to fulfill a need. This is as much a meal as a social event.

Clarke and Finn have been given a great honor by sharing the high table with President Dante Wallace, his son Cage and a handful of his most senior officials, or so Finn insists.

The President seems to be the only one forthcoming with answers to Clarke’s questions. He explains the workings of the base, the need to remain sequestered because, for better or for worse, they didn’t follow the same evolutionary process as the grounders and are thus unable to metabolize radiation. He gives the example of one of his men, Sgt. Emerson, who recently in a routine ground patrol was exposed to radiation through a tear in his hazmat suit and is now receiving the standard treatment under Dr. Tsing’s supervision.

“If you can’t stand the radiation why go outside at all?” Clarke inquires. “You said you’re completely self-sufficient and the base is virtually impregnable. I don’t see the need to send patrols out regularly when you risk a mayor containment breach every time they come and go.”

Wallace chuckles and shares an amused look with his son.

“We hope to return to the surface eventually,” Wallace explains.

Cage, who had remained mostly silent until now, smiles sardonically and casts a glance at Finn. “Soon, God willing. When that time comes, we need to make sure our land isn’t overridden with Outsiders. They multiply like vermin.”

People laugh around the table, and even Finn cracks a smile. Clarke balls her fists under the table.

“They adapted,” she says dryly. “They have every right to be there.”

Cage stares at her with amused contempt. “They are little more than animals. Uncivilized, coarse. We are the last vestige of what made this nation great, the only hope for our culture to last on. This land was our before the war and it will be again.”

President Wallace and the others toast to that. They disgust her. Clarke holds no great love for the Grounders, but she recognizes they are human beings possessing their own authentic culture.

“Take it from someone who has been at war with them since we landed, they have superior fighting skills,” Clarke argues.

Cage bats the concept away with a flick of his hand as if it were a bothersome fly. “That won’t matter once we take control of the surface.”

“And how do you plan to do that? You can’t even go outside without risking death,” Clarke says irreverently.

He smirks. “Well, with your help of course. Your people might be immune to radiation, but you’re little more efficient than bumbling idiots in your defense against the Outsiders. And if they don’t kill you first, exposure surely well.”

Cage leans over the table, bringing his face closer to her. His lips are twisted into a derisive smile and malice glints in the depths of his eyes.

“Truth is, you’re no better off than us. And if you want to survive and exterminate the threat the Outsiders pose, you need us.”

Clarke juts her jaw up and holds the challenge in his gaze “We don’t want to exterminate anyone. We just want to be at peace.”

Cage outright laughs in her face, echoed in a lesser measure by the people around them. Wallace smiles tightly at his son’s antics, barely concealing a warning glare.

Finn lays his napkin next to his plate and looks at Wallace. “With your permission, sir, Clarke and I need to have a word.”

He nods and Finn stands up, cupping Clarke’s elbow and none too gently bringing her up with him.

He nearly drags her to a deserted hallway. Clarke wrenches her arm away and rubs the aching spot where his fingers dug in. “Why are you being like this?” he demands angrily. “We have a real chance here, Clarke! You’re going to screw everything up if you’re not careful.”

“You can’t be serious,” she shakes her head, incredulous. “Finn, these people are dangerous. Were you not listening to what that asshole was saying? They kidnapped you and Monty, and now me. They have terrorized the grounders for ages and plan to exterminate them.”

“You, of all people, can’t judge them for trying to defend themselves.”

Clarke inhales sharply, struggling to hold her temper. “We suspect they’re working with the Reapers.”

Finn snorts. “Listen to yourself! You sound crazy, Clarke. Working with the Reapers? That’s insane. Who told you that?”

Clarke locks her jaw. Murphy is admittedly not the most reliable source, but his story checks out with all the other information they gathered about the Mountain Men and the base entrance they found in one of the tunnels. Miller was sent on a mission to hack Mount Weather and get all the answers they need. Even now he could be out there worming his way into their systems. Clarke wonders if she could get a hold of a computer and find a way to send out a message to him.

“It was Murphy,” she says finally. “He and a grounder were found by Reapers and taken through the tunnels to an entrance where people in hazmat suits were waiting for them. That entrance led here Finn, and those people were Mountain Men.”

“And you believe him? Come on, Clarke.”

“Anya and Lincoln also claim – ”

“You and I both know the grounders are quick to see threats where there are none. Look, I didn’t trust them at first either,” Finn confesses. He pulls Clarke’s hand between both of his. “When they took me I tried to leave a trail for you and dropped Raven’s necklace when we crossed the river. But they aren’t evil, Clarke, they just want to survive and kindly offer to share their home with us, to help us.”

She shakes her head. “If that’s the case, then they should’ve reached out to us, not kidnapped us.”

“They need us, Clarke,” he insists earnestly. “I’m not supposed to tell you this yet but they want all our people to come here and assimilate both genetic pools. That’s their evil plan,” he says teasingly. “Their inability to metabolize radiation makes them weak and they will die out unless we interbreed with them. Can you carry that in your conscience, the death of an entire race, when you could’ve done something to stop it?”

“I don’t trust them. With good reason,” she stresses. “I need you to understand that.”

“And I need you to realize you’re making a mistake. They’re offering us a home. We can be happy here.”

“Can’t you see they’re lying?” Clarke asks irritably. “Finn, I was knocked out and dragged here. I wasn’t too far from the group I was travelling with. Am I supposed to believe their patrol just found me there by dumb luck and completely missed everyone else? I was close enough to my group that they should’ve spotted them. I was deliberately abducted!”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. We couldn’t risk alerting Kane, we don’t know how he’ll react. I know you can be made to see reason, so we had to get you here alone so you could see that the Mountain Men are our only chance to survive. If anyone’s going to convince our people, it’s you.”

Cold fury descends on Clarke. “I never mentioned Kane being with me that night,” she says slowly. “How did you know?”

He sputters, caught off guard.

“How did you know, Finn?” He fails to answer and Clarke balls her fists by her hips. “You were there, this was your idea. Tell me, were you the one who struck me so hard I blacked out?”

“It was the only way,” he says lamely.

“How did you know we would be in that clearing? The trip to see the Commander was last minute…” she shakes her head, her stomach recoiling as the realization dawns on her. “You’ve been watching us. All this time, while we were trying to rescue you, you were spying on us. For how long?”

Finn gives her a scornful, vaguely pitying look. “Long enough to know what you and Bellamy have been up to,” he barks.

Clarke’s jaw slackens and jumps an involuntary step back.

He gathers himself. “I don’t blame you, I want you to know that. I know Bellamy is a very persuasive guy and he always gets what he wants no matter what.” There’s enough condescension in his tone to set her teeth of edge. “I don’t blame you falling under his spell, but it makes me furious that he(?) would take advantage of you like that.”

Clarke feels a rush of defensive anger. She looks into the face of a person she deeply cared about and finds she can barely recognize him.

“I appreciate your concern,” she replies with a heated glare. “But Bellamy didn’t take advantage of me.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t be allowed here when the rest of our people come,” Finn continues as if he didn’t hear a word she said. “Bellamy killed one of the Mountain Men in cold blood so he’ll be tried and executed.”

Dread fists around Clarke’s heart. “You’re insane,” Clarke murmurs softly.

She won’t let them hurt Bellamy. She’ll burn this place down to the ground to stop them if she has to.

Finn cups her cheek. His touch makes her skin crawl and Clarke want’s to scream at him get his hands off her, but there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes that stop her. “We’ll be happy here, you’ll see,” he promises. “But I need you to please stop antagonizing the president and Cage and everyone else. I can’t guarantee that they won’t punish you if you don’t.”

He drops a kiss on her forehead. Clarke swallows bile coming up her throat and holds perfectly still.

“I heard there’s a warehouse full with salvaged artwork and stuff. Why don’t we go check it out? I bet you’ll love it.”

Clarke steps away from him. “I have a headache,” Clarke lies, touching the spot where Finn knocked her out. He follows the movement with his eyes and has the gall to look concerned. “I think I’ll just go to the infirmary and ask for an aspirin.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks. It’s such a stark change, from angry and unapologetic to solicitous, that Clarke feels a real headache forming from just trying to keep up with him.

“Thanks but I can manage,” she forces a small smile upon her lips but she’s not at all sure the result doesn’t look closer to a grimace. Finn seems to buy it, so Clarke calls it a win. “Don’t miss out the rest of lunch. Those meat pies looked delicious.”

“They are,” he assures her with a smirk. “I’ll see you later then.”

He winks at her before entering the great hall.

Having memorized the path earlier when Finn escorted her to the great hall, quick feet take her back to the infirmary. As expected, the place is nearly deserted. The last time she saw her, Dr. Tsing was in the great hall eating and talking amicably with the people seating around her. Clarke hopes she and all the medical staff remain there, but Finn doubtlessly announced her plans to come here so it’s likely someone will show up shortly to keep an eye on her.

Maya is no longer there but her advice was clear. The answers to her questions lie with the source of the dialysis conduits propped up above each bed.

Only one of the beds is in use so Clarke sedately walks in that direction so as not to alert the man resting in it. He appears deeply asleep, but Clarke does her utmost to move silently just in case. There’s no chart to shed light on the man’s identity, but there are large, scabbed burns on his face and neck so she guesses he is Sgt. Emerson, the man Wallace told her was exposed to radiation and was receiving the standard treatment.

Sure enough, there are two clear tubes carrying blood attached to the dialysis valve on his chest connecting him to the panel above his bed. Twin pipes connect all the panels on the room running alongside the walls. She follows that path to the far wall of the room where the pipes merge into the concrete. A dead end, or so she thinks before Clarke glances up and sees the vent.

With the help of a chair she climbs into the vent. It’s a tight fit but she crawls down the dark shaft to the faint light in the distance. When she reaches the screen at the end she tries to remove it gently but it slips through her clammy fingers and clatters to the floor with a loud clang.

Clarke waits, panic coursing through her veins. No one comes to investigate the disturbance so she jumps out the vent.

The room is dimly lit, a faint greenish light tinting everything she sees.

There are cages everywhere, lining the walls from floor to ceiling and forming rows on the middle of the room. The room echoes with the torturous whimpering and groaning of the damned. Clarke sees fingers reach out through the bars and countless pairs of eyes searching her for help. But most shockingly, two men hang upside down a short distance away from her, stripped bare but for clinging white shorts. The black ink of their tribal tattoos is a stark contrast to their pale, sickly skin.

She approaches them as if in a daze. Long, thick flexible tubes stab into their sides and the methodical sound of an automated pump deafens her ears in the silence.

They’re being bled dry. Like pigs.

Her stomach revolts. What purpose could this torture serve?

Clarke spurs to action, trying to find something, anything to free the helpless grounders. Plaintive words rise from the nearest cages, both in English and in the grounder’s own language. They beg and cry and as bad as the conflict between her people and the grounders ever was, her heart breaks to see such a proud, strong race reduced to dwell in cages like animals and subjected to inhumane conditions.

She starts tugging at the chains holding the grounders in the air when a hand clamps over her mouth. Clarke screams and fights, shoving her elbows back to get away. Her assailant lets out a breathless groan and Clarke becomes aware of a pair of small but distinctly female breasts pressing against her back a fraction of a second before she’s released.

She turns around and finds Maya nearly bent at the waist and trying to catch her breath.

The girl raises her hands before herself in a defensive move as Clarke starts for her with fury drumming in her pulse.

“Wait, Clarke! I’m here to help!” Maya cries.

Clarke stops but keeps her eyes fixed on her, wary of her intentions.

“I wouldn’t have told you to come here if I wanted to hurt you,” Maya argues.

An internal battle wages inside Clarke. On the one hand, the Mountain Men are confirmed monsters as evidenced by the goings-on of this room. But on the other, Maya did give her the necessary clue to find out what her people are doing to the grounders and the girl’s eyes shine with sincerity.

Conflicted, Clarke nods slightly and relaxes her posture.

“What is this place?” she asks.

Shame twists Maya’s delicate features as she glances around the room with sorrowful eyes. “Hell. I needed you to see for yourself or you wouldn’t have believed me.”

“The blood taken from them is the same your people use to treat radiation poisoning. Why would you show me this?”

“Because what my people are doing is wrong, and I can’t bear it in my conscience anymore,” Maya answers.

“Is my friend Monty here?” Clarke asks, dreading the answer.

Maya shakes her head. “No, they’re keeping somewhere else. I don’t have clearance to take you there.”

“They’re not planning to slowly assimilate my people into your gene pool, are they?” Clarke guesses with trepidation.

Maya glances down. “They performed tests on your friend. The way you metabolize radiation… is unlike anything we’ve ever seen. They’ve been talking about marrow transplants.”

“I have to get him out,” Clarke says urgently. “And them too.”

“Not right now, you can’t. The president would know and catch you before you even make it out the tunnels. I’ll help you,” Maya promises. “But right now we have to get back before they realize you’re gone.”

Clarke glances at the caged grounders. She can’t do anything for them right now but the thought of leaving them here is nearly unbearable.

Maya’s soft hand curls around Clarke’s and squeezes comfortingly. She looks at the girl and sees the deep shame and guilt swimming in her unveiled eyes. It takes a special kind of courage and selfless bravery to do what Maya has done, what she’s promised Clarke to do. If they succeed, not only will her people’s crimes against the grounders be revealed, giving their enemies leverage against them. She’ll doom her own people, if not to outright extinction, then to short life spans riddled with illnesses. All because it’s the right thing to do.

Respect and admiration blooms in Clarke’s chest and she squeezes Maya’s hand back.

She looks at the caged grounders one last time. She’ll come back for them as soon as she’s able, after she rescues Monty and has a plan that will see them all safe home.

With a heavy heart Clarke turns her back to the torture chamber and follows Maya back into the infirmary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reunion coming, I promise. and sex. of course.
> 
> Did you like it? Are you frustrated? Let me know!


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Did you survive the finale? Are you looking forward to this hiatus? We sure need a breather after such a rollercoaster of a season... I for one plan to write a lot to fill the void ;-)
> 
> I want to thank you all for the amazing continued support you're giving me and this story. We're entering the home stretch and I'll be wrapping up this fic in a few chapters. But that is not to say I'm done with this universe! As you might have noticed, this work is now part of a series and there is a companion piece posted already. My plan is to write outtakes of scenes that happened in my head but didn't make it into this fic for one reason or another, as well as taking prompts from you of things you want to see happen in THIS universe. Both coetaneous to this timeline and future, once this, the main fic, wraps up.
> 
> If you missed the first outtake, just click above where it says "series".
> 
> Credit! First and foremost, [ Sarah ](http://www.writingaloveaffair.tumblr.com)for being the best beta ever. She is a goddess. This chapter needed a lot of work from both of us and she steered me in the right direction at every turn. You are wonderful and I love you.
> 
> Also, a huge thanks to [Marissa!](http://www.missemarissa.tumblr.com) Our daily chats are the best thing and you're my go-to person to sound out smutty ideas.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> 5/26 EDIT: I changed the publication date because for some reason the new update wasn't showing up in the tag. It was there last night but a friend alerted me it was gone today. I don't know what happened but I hope this corrects that misshap.

Shrouded in shadows and silence, Clarke sits on the industrial concrete floor with her back to the corner. There’s a perfectly good bed two feet away but it’s too comfortable. She cannot sleep in it. One hour after dinner it’s lights out and the military base is sunk into darkness for ten hours of mandated sleep. 

Her eyes have adjusted to the dark mostly, but there’s something unsettling the perpetual stillness of the room, with but a thin sliver of the faint emergency hallway lights coming through the crack between the door and the floor. She is not used to this much quiet. She went from the neverending engine hum of the Ark to the music of the wilderness to this orderly silence.

She got used to be around someone in the small hours of the night too, always within reach, warm and solid next to her. For what little time they spent together and the actual newness of their relationship, Bellamy has come to mean so much to her that being separated from him for the time being feel like an actual open wound. 

The mountain men continue to maintain that she is not a prisoner and during the week Clarke has been here they have given her a lot of leeway. They provided a binder which contains, among heaps of Mount Weather propaganda, a map of the military base. They want her to feel like this place is her home and convince her that they are not the monsters she knows them to be. The map is incomplete however. For one, the torture chamber where all the grounders are kept in cages is not in it. The map also shows no exits. Maya has been helping her fill the blanks. When the time to escape comes, and it will come, she needs to be ready.

She’s been spending a lot of time helping out at the infirmary, using her medical knowledge as an in with Dr. Tsing. In order to rescue the grounders, she’ll need easy access to the medical area. She’s constantly under supervision but she hopes as the days go by the medical staff will relax around her somewhat.

Clarke also uses that opportunity to inquire about Monty and ask to see him, even though she knows where he is thanks to Maya – level three, ICU, room 301 – and knows they won’t let her near him. But she hadn’t shut up about it the first day, so it would seem suspicious if she suddenly forgot about her friend. They don’t know that she knows they’re experimenting on Monty and she’d like to keep it that way.

There’s a downside to spending so much time around Dr. Tsing however. The woman has been trying to convince her that her birth control implant is failing and needs to be removed immediately, showing her labs she supposedly ran with Clarke’s blood to support her claim. They are obviously fake and Clarke has been steadily refusing the procedure, arguing that Dr. Ting is not familiar with the technology used on those implants and that until her mother or another doctor from the Ark takes a look at it, the implant is staying inside her. 

She’s not sure why Tsing want to remove it but Clarke suspects Cage Wallace is somehow involved. The man has no sense of personal space and always finds an excuse to put his hands on her when they cross paths. According to Maya, their ultimate plan is forcing bone marrow transplants so their people can gain the ability to metabolize radiation, but the way Cage looks at her makes Clarke think he wouldn’t mind assimilating his gene pool with hers first and it  _ terrifies  _ her.

A soft padding sound outside her door makes Clarke sit up, alert. The faint light coming under the door is obscured by someone standing right in front of it on the hallway. Clarke holds her breath, waiting… And then, like clockwork, as it’s happened every night for the past week, comes the knocking.

_ “Clarke?” _

Finn’s uncertain voice produces a visceral response in her. Every night he comes and knocks on her door. Every night Clarke pretends to sleep.

She didn’t the first time. She thought maybe she misjudged him and he was only pretending to support the mountain men. He could be coming to her to plot their escape. So she opened her door and let him in.

Turns out all he wanted to do was talk. He reaffirmed his love for her, repeated that he forgave her for turning to Bellamy in his absence because he knew she never would’ve have if he’d been there. And maybe she wouldn’t have, maybe he’s right. Finn being gone was the last push in Bellamy’s direction she needed. But they had been building up prior to that so Finn or no Finn, they would’ve have gotten to that point eventually. 

What she has with Bellamy runs so much deeper than anything she ever felt with Finn. She trusts him implicitly and has for a long time, and that’s something she can’t say for Finn. His absence only expedited the process of her and Bellamy getting their shit together. 

But of course, explaining any of this to Finn was hopeless. He refused to understand that she has feelings for Bellamy and got really jealous and possessive. He tried to kiss her that first night and Clarke had to practically kick him out of her room.

Ever since, he comes at night to try to reason with her. He tries during the day too but Clarke can usually put him off, pleading that she’s giving the mountain men the benefit of the doubt and is learning the layout of the base and spending time with Maya and Dr. Tsing to that effect, but that she needs space from him. During the night she just pretends to sleep but can’t, not until he comes and goes, because the door has no lock and she doesn’t trust him not to enter without her permission.

Clarke listens carefully until his disappointed sigh reaches her and he finally leaves. She heaves a relieved breath and for a moment she is okay. But then everything rushes back in. She misses her people. The camp is her home and she misses it. She misses her grass mattress, bickering with Raven, arguing with her mom. She misses Fox’s mint tea in the mornings and Miller’s sarcasm. She misses treating the delinquents for a myriad of stupid little accidents. She misses making eye contact with Bellamy across camp while they both go about their chores, his eyes full of promise and warmth, finding a moment between the hectic day to steal a kiss or a touch and the knowledge that when they day wraps up, they’ll be together.

She wants to go back. She has to find a way to do that. They’re counting on her.

Clarke closes her eyes, feeling the sting of tears welling up. She huddles against the corner and prays for sleep to come.

* * *

Clarke’s thankful to have an ally in Maya. The girl is well liked among her people and they obviously trust her, never even suspecting she’s part of a plot against them. She gave her access to her personal computer in the off-chance Miller is still out there hacking into their systems, but sadly neither one of them know the first thing about sending out a coded message. Regardless, with Maya at her side and vouching for her, people don’t think twice about the two girls exploring every nook and cranny of the base, which Clarke needs in order to learn the layout and forming a plan. She could take the grounders through the disposal chutes that lead from the torture chamber to the Reaper tunnels, but Monty is all the way up in level 3 and she can’t leave without him.

That’s what they’re doing when she sees him. With the excuse of showing her the warehouses full of art pieces, Maya’s taking her through the least frequented parts of level 2 and spotting the few cameras that have blind spots and the service doors that lead to the evacuation route. 

At first, Clarke thinks it’s a dream. Her mind has conjured him up a hundred times when she sleeps, smiling at her, teasing her, touching her. She wakes up every time burning up with want and her heart heavy with a longing so profound she never thought herself capable of it.

It’s the way he walks what catches her attention at first. Guards universally carry themselves with a kind of confident swagger, but perhaps it’s because Clarke is intimately familiar with the way his hips move and the powerful bearing of his shoulders. She spots him at the end of the hallway strutting in her direction and before she even sees his face she  _ knows _ .

Bellamy.

Clad in the beige uniform of Mount Weather’s guards, his face obscured by the same hat all the guards wear that serves no practical purpose since there is no sunlight inside the base. Momentum carries her and she continues walking sedately by Maya’s side. In truth, all higher brain functions are suspended and everything fades around the one thought that prevails.

_ He’s here. _

Bellamy looks up just slightly and meets her eyes. Clarke never thought something so simple as eye contact could fill her with such hope. He gives her a tiny, almost imperceptible head shake and his right hand drops to his side. Clarke’s eyes zero in on his fisted hand.

They cross paths. Maya’s voice fades completely. Bellamy’s eyes hold hers. She breathes him in when they’re closest and feels a surge of electricity as his hand touches her for a moment.

Clarke keeps on walking, acting as if her world didn’t just shift on its axis. She and Maya turn left at the end of the hallway and she discreetly looks back but Bellamy is gone. She could almost convince herself that he was never there in the first place, that her starved brain imagined him. It would make sense. How could Bellamy be here? Posing as a guard, patrolling the halls without anyone noticing there’s a spy among them. It would be easy to believe that guard just looked like him and in her desperate need for home, she projected what she wanted to see.

It would be so easy, and it would make so much sense. Except for the balled piece of paper now trapped securely in her fist.

He’s here.

Clarke excuses herself as soon as she can and locks herself in a restroom, the only place where there aren’t any cameras spying her. She can hardly contain her excitement. Bellamy detailed a time and place to meet in the note he passed her. She traces the handwritten words lovingly and smiles for the first time since she was abducted. In just a few hours, she will see him.

She painstakingly counts down the minutes until then. She doesn’t mention anything to Maya, not because she doesn’t trust her but because she might want to come to meet him and there’s no telling what Bellamy would do if she brought her along. Bellamy’s not generally a trusting person, especially where strangers are concerned. She’s reasonably sure he wouldn’t hurt Maya but he might think the girl is coercing Clarke and using her to capture him and blow his cover to save her. She needs time to explain that Maya is on their side.

Besides, she misses Bellamy and she needs to feel him close. She can’t properly greet him with another person present, and he would never let his guard down in front of a stranger. If this brief meeting is all they can get before they can safely get out of this place, then Clarke intends to make it count.

The meeting place is a janitor’s closet located in a rarely used hallway on level four. When the time comes, she scurries down the deserted hallway, noticing there are no guards around. The security cameras propped up on the walls from the elevator around the corner to this spot all lack the usual blinking red light that indicates they’re streaming an active feed, which is odd since according to Maya Wallace’s men are anal about recording everything. Perhaps Bellamy found a way to disable to cameras? 

Clarke locates the janitor’s closet and, with her hammering heart threatening to break out of her ribcage, she slips in and carefully shuts the door behind her.

The first words she says to him are laden with longing. “You’re here.”

Bellamy crosses the short distance between them in two strides. Not one to wait, Clarke propels herself against him. They crash into each other halfway, her arms going around his shoulders and clinging tightly. Bellamy seems surprised for half a second and then his arms wrap tightly around her and he lifts her literally off her feet.

He buries his face in her hair and she feels him take a deep, shuddering breath, as if reassuring himself that she isn’t a figment of his imagination. Clarke smiles against his collarbone and hugs him tighter. If she could climb on top of him she would but her knees are wobbly as it is and all that holds her up is his strength.

He deposits her on her feet and pulls back. Clarke’s breath catches in her throat at the open wonder and joy clear in his features. And then he steals the breath right from her lungs with a kiss so hungry, so raw it feels like her soul is coming home.

“How did you get here?” She asks, panting against his lips.

He cups her face, his thumb tracing her lower lip. “I sneaked in with Miller and Raven’s help. I can get us out but we need to go, now. Where are Finn and Monty?”

Clarke sighs and closes her eyes, dropping her forehead to his chest. His arms, a comforting presence around her, draw her close as he rests his cheek on the top of her head. “There’s our first problem. Finn believes these people are our salvation, and Monty is in a medically induced coma in a virtually inaccessible room,” she looks up at him, propping her chin on his chest. “And there are about sixty grounder prisoners being bled and tortured as we speak. We can’t leave them, any of them.”

“Yeah, and there are about a dozen reapers in the making on level two. Lincoln is one of them, I have to get him out too.” Bellamy scowls. “Does Finn really believe that? These people kidnapped him.”

She tells him about President Wallace’s vision of bringing their people to live with them, crossbreed and mutually benefit, and about Maya’s inside knowledge that the real plan is to use them the same way they’ve been using the grounders for decades, with the exception that their genetic makeup can do what grounder blood can’t and actually allow the Mountain Men to withstand radiation.

“It’s why they have Monty in a coma. They’re experimenting on him,” she finishes gravely.

Bellamy shakes his head, fury bright in his dark eyes and brows drawn in a gloomy scowl. “Getting so many people out of here is not going to be easy. You’re my priority,” Bellamy says vehemently. “And Monty and Lincoln. Finn can stay if he wants, but we have to give him a chance to choose our people.”

“What about the grounders? We can’t just leave them.”

“They’re not our responsibility.”

Clarke knows this is a very ambitious, probably undoable feat, but they have to at least try. “You don’t mean that. You can’t tell me that you could just walk away from them and leave them for dead and not have it weight on your conscience. I know you.”

He looks at her with his heart in his eyes, unhidden. “I have to get you out. Clarke.”

Her name is a plea and a declaration. It rings loud in her ears and sings in her heart. “And then what?”

He nods, a determined look settling on his face. “I’ll stay and get the grounders out, once I know you’re safe.”

She shakes her head. “No. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m just going to leave you.”

She curls her hands around the back of his neck and drags him down to kiss him with the feeling from every night they’ve been apart, with every prayer she’s said, with every ounce of longing and need and all the unformed words she just can’t say. Firm desire and hungry lips quickly take control of the kiss and his tongue explores and strokes, no doubt left in her mind that he wants her as much as she does.

The Velcro of his bulletproof vest is loud on the otherwise quiet room, drowning out their harsh breathing. She pulls it off, desperate to feel him. The buttons on his shirt exasperate her but only one is lost before Bellamy helps her undo them. Clarke groans when she finds he’s wearing an undershirt.

He pulls her sweater over her head as she works on his fly. She kicks off her flats after he drags her leggings down and off, panties included. She’s left naked with only her bra on while he’s still nearly completely covered, his hard dick jutting out from his undone pants. She’s vulnerable and exposed like this, her skin soft against the chafing starch of his uniform. Wetness gathers between her legs just by standing like this, presenting herself to Bellamy, offering her body to his pleasure.

Bellamy takes a moment to just look at her, his eyes searing a heated path over her skin.

“All your marks are gone,” Clarke almost whispers, hearing her heart thud in her ears and reverently touching the clear, faded spots on her wrist and neck where his love bites used to be. She can feel the slippery wetness between her thighs and her nipples feel hard enough to cut glass, straining against the lacy cup of her bra.

“I’ll have to give you some new ones,” he growls, taking her hand and pinning it over her head.

Their fingers interlace there and their joined hands squeeze rhythmically as he drops his head to nibble on the shell of her ear. He pulls back and his hand leaves hers. Before Clarke can complain he grips her hips, pulling her up. Clarke clings to his neck and wraps her legs around his lean waist. His utility belt and the material of his pants irritate her inner thighs but Clarke relishes on the abrasion and holds tight.

Bellamy kisses her, quick and dirty and then drops his lips back to her neck. She almost protests. He can’t leave a visible mark, people will suspect when they see it. Finn will be especially unbearable and could possibly get Bellamy killed if he finds out he’s here and tell anyone. But she shouldn’t have worried. Bellamy kisses wetly down the column of her throat and chest and settles on a spot on the swell of her breast.

Right over her hammering heart.

Clarke moans, the sound echoing in the small room. Bellamy pulls back and she whines. “You have to be quiet princess,” he tells her sternly. “Nobody can know I’m here.”

She nods. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He scowls at her and it sparks an involuntary, absolutely obscene response in her. She feels a rush of fresh wetness and knows his undershirt is probably soaked through with her juices where her pussy rubs against his lower abdomen.

Bellamy’s hand closes around her throat, pressing slightly against the sides of her neck but careful not to obstruct her airway. Her pulse hammers against his thumb. “Not. A. Sound.” He stresses each word pressing his muscled abdomen harder against her.

Clarke shivers and nods, panting quietly. Pleased with her, Bellamy goes back to the chosen spot on her breast and starts to nibble and suck the sensitive skin there. He bites her gently, raking his teeth over the skin and then soothing the ache with his tongue.

It borderline hurts where his teeth and lips abuse her flesh and Clarke loves it. She’s missed it. She missed him. She can hardly contain her moans and whines but she swallows every sound as he commanded.

Satisfied with the large bruise he created, Bellamy brushes a quick dry kiss over it and helps Clarke back to her feet. He tilts his face down, close but not making a move to kiss her, and stares deep into her eyes. He cups her heavy breasts. “This is nice,” Bellamy murmurs as Clarke gasps at the contact. She can feel the sensitive tips of her nipples rubbing against the palms of his hands through the flowery lace pattern of the bra and if the lust swimming in his eyes is any indication, he can feel them too.

The bra had been the only impractical, luxurious item of clothing she allowed herself to take from the rolling trunk Dr. Tsing gave her. It was just the right size and it supported her generous breasts better than any other bra she ever owned. Back on the Ark all the clothes were utilitarian, including underwear, and while she’d had it better compared to other less privileged girls, Clarke had still only ever owned ill-fitting cotton bras. She quite literally couldn’t resist when she saw the lacy garment neatly folded in the trunk.

It made her feel sexy when she put it on, like it was her own little secret. And while she hadn’t in her wildest dreams expected Bellamy to come to her – not because he wouldn’t, but because Mount Weather in an impregnable base so her best chance was escaping instead of being rescued- she did entertain the thought of taking it with her when she escaped and how much he would enjoy the sexy little bra. The wet heat between her thighs attests to the thrill she gets as he admires her tits with erotic hunger.

“Very nice,” he growls in her ear as he rolls her tight nipples between his fingertips through the fabric. Bellamy holds her eyes for a long intense moment before dipping his head to take her right nipple into his mouth, sucking hard at first, then lapping at the sensitive lace-clad bud until she might scream.

Clarke moans inside her head, mindful of the need for silence. Bellamy works on her other nipple now, nipping gently with his teeth and sending showers of sparks from her sensitive tips to her hot, swollen cunt. At last Bellamy looks up, his earthy eyes dilated with need.

“You’re doing very good baby,” he tells her in a hoarse voice. The praise washes over Clarke like warm sunlight.

He caresses her side with his left hand until his fingers splay possessively over the curve of her hip. He kisses her again, this time taking his time to leisurely drag his lips over hers. His large hand slips down between her legs to cup her slippery mound. His hand feels warm and gentle as he cups her. 

“Remember. I don’t want to hear anything from you. I need you to stay nice and quiet. We clear?” he murmurs, stroking one long finger slowly up and down her slit. Clarke bites her lip at the intensely pleasurable sensation the gentle motion causes and nods mutely.

His fingers stop at the top of her slit and press against it, gently separating her folds. He brushes his fingertips lightly along her clit making her swallow a moan and tilt her hips against him. Clarke gasps again as his fingers slip down over her swollen inner cunt.

Bellamy’s deep voice drops to a lower octave and he whispers in her ear, “Did you miss this baby? Did you miss feeling my fingers inside you?” 

Clarke nods, almost panting with need. Two of his long, strong fingers slide into her, filling her and she bites her lip to keep from crying out. 

“Does that feel good?” Bellamy mutters as he thrusts his fingers in and out of her wet pussy. “Can you feel how your little cunt clings to my fingers, Clarke?”

The erotic words spoken in his low, raspy voice are almost enough to make her come right there. Clarke squeezes her eyes shut and drops her head back against the wall. It’s too much. She’s so hot, so close. If he would touch her just a little bit more she would go off like a rocket.

Before she can get there – or maybe because he felt how close she was – Bellamy drops to his knees in front of her. Clarke can feel his hot breath fanning against her inner thighs. “Relax,” he murmurs, stroking her sides gently and brushing a soft kiss on her right hipbone. “I want you to just relax and let me in, Clarke. But you have to be quiet. I know it’s been a while, but I believe in you. Can you do that? Can you be quiet for me?”

Mutely, Clarke nods slowly. She has her doubts about her ability to remain silent – she’s so close and Bellamy knows just how to touch her to make her lose her mind.

As Bellamy strokes her thighs gently with his large, warm hands, she allows her legs to part and watches breathlessly as he leans forward to place a soft, tender kiss at the concave spot where her thigh and hip meet.

“That’s right, princess, open up. Let me taste you.” Bellamy bends forward again and starts kissing her more deeply—kissing her pussy the same way he might kiss her mouth, gently, tenderly, and with such passion it takes her breath away. Clarke moans silently as his tongue slips over her wet folds, stroking along the sensitive side of her clit. “Fuck, Clarke,” he looks up after a long moment and licked his lips. “I’m never gonna get tired of how damn good you taste,” he confesses.

Clarke reaches out to run a hand through his messy hair. “Please, Bellamy…” she begs softly, forgetting herself.

Bellamy gives her a level stare, his brown eyes burning with need. “I thought I made myself clear. If you can’t contain yourself I’ll have to put something between those pretty lips of yours to keep you quiet.”

Clarke’s mouth waters at the thought. Yes, she wants it. She wants his cock in her mouth, thrusting gently but deep as he does whatever he wants to her pussy. She could scream and moan around him but he’s so big and thick he would keep her quiet just how he wants her. 

Bellamy leans forward again and Clarke sighs with breathless pleasure as he spreads her cunt gently with his fingers and licks a warm, wet trail from the bottom of her pussy to the top of her slit, savoring her with obvious enthusiasm. 

Clarke steadies herself by grabbing his broad shoulders—the pleasure he’s giving her is almost too intense to bear and making her legs weak and wobbly. She nearly cries out as he sucks her clit into his mouth and begins tracing the sensitive bud with his tongue. She thrusts up to meet him, craving more of his intoxicating touch.

Clarke feels herself trembling on the edge of orgasm but just as she’s just about to tip over the edge, Bellamy shifts. He lifts her left leg so that all her weight is braced on her right and positions her thigh over his broad shoulder. The new position spreads her even farther, opening her completely to Bellamy’s seeking mouth. His light stubble scratches against her tender inner thighs, making her moan softly. Bellamy shoots her a warningly look before bending forward again, using the new leverage to enter her with his tongue and press deep inside her.

Clarke buries her hands in his hair and presses forward, surrendering completely as Bellamy presses his tongue deeply into her cunt. She wants to come more than she wants her next breath. Bellamy pushes her hard, pressing inside her, tasting her center as if he was reaching for her heart with each eager thrust of his tongue.  He shifts positions again and sucks her clit into his hot mouth, lashing her with his tongue and entering her at the same time with two long, strong fingers. He fucks her deep to press hard against the end of her channel. 

Clarke bites her lip and struggles to swallow her moans but it’s hard when he’s making her feel so fucking good. Her throat hurts from the effort and she tastes the coppery taste of her own blood from her lip.

She can’t help it. It’s been so long since she had him and she’s missed him so much… Clarke feels herself finally tipping over the edge, her hips bucking as she rides his face and sobs his name aloud. She shudders, mewling and gasping as her pussy clenches around his invading fingers.

Bellamy makes a soft tsking sound and Clarke gradually comes down off her pleasure high. She looks down and he shakes his head at her in disapproval. “We haven’t been apart so long that you would forget you can’t come without permission. I expected better Clarke.”

Her heart twists and her pussy clenches, desire spiking anew. There’s no real heat behind his words, she knows. This is part of the game and the thrill, her need to please him, to be good for him, and he knows it. The both get off on it. “I’m sorry,” she chokes out, rolling her hips and riding his fingers.

He stands up, pressing his body against her and trapping her against the wall. “And don’t get me started on the fucking filthy sounds you made even though I explicitly said you had to be quiet.” He removes his fingers from her cunt but they don’t go far. He rubs her clit in tight, hard little circles.

Clarke shudders and chokes on a moan. “I’m sorry, Bellamy,” she repeats softly. “I just. I need you. I need you so much.”

Bellamy brings his free hand up and touches his forefinger to his lips in the universal shushing sound. His thumb takes over stimulating her clit while he thrusts two fingers back inside her. Her cunt resists the intrusion, still spasming from the aftershocks. His skilled hand won’t let her come down though and with pained delight Clarke realizes she’s about to launch into another orgasm again. She’s overly sensitive but he knows just how to push her. It becomes increasingly difficult to stay silent despite how hard she tries, so Clarke is grateful when Bellamy takes pity on her and covers her mouth with his hand, effectively smothering the sounds she can’t hold back anymore. He kisses her sweaty forehead as he fucks her hard with his fingers, and then whispers in her ear that  _ now  _ she can come for him. This orgasm swells and rolls through her like a giant heartbeat, making every inch of her body pulse and throb. Her thighs clench hard over his hand holding it still as her climax passes.

Bellamy’s hot mouth covers hers with gentle kisses, tracing his tongue across the seam of her pliant lips. Clarke doesn’t know how long they stay like that but soon enough Bellamy steps back and shrugs off his shirt before spreading it on the concrete floor. He gently helps her down and settles between the cradle of her hips, hard and ready. He arranges her arms over her head and plants his forearms next to her to brace his weight, taking her hands and lacing their fingers together. Their gazes lock as he starts to push into her.

There’s no urgency as he slips inside her, unyielding. Her walls stretch to accommodate him until his cock is seated deeply, the bulbous tip touching the mouth of her womb. She crosses her ankles at his back and holds him close. He finds her lips and she breaths him in, takes him as he steadily stokes the flames between them.

“I can’t lose you,” Bellamy growls lowly, raw and honest, panting against her lips and giving her the air she breathes. “They told me you’d been taken and I – I can’t lose you Clarke.”

His hips bear down on her, rocking his cock deep. Her cunt clings to him, still sensitive from her orgasms but well on her way to the next under his gentle fucking. She kisses his lips, the dent in chin, his nose, the wetness in his eyes, his forehead. Everywhere she can reach him. His hips snap against her in that demanding, leisurely pace, bringing them closer to the edge. Clarke feels him beginning to swell inside her and she instinctively clenches around him, needing him close, needing to feel him come deep inside her. He curses under his breath and kisses her again, frantic, and they come together.

“If you’re staying I’m staying,” she tells him after a while. His large body is settled down on her and his cock remains inside her but limp. She likes him there, likes the way his weight anchors her and holds her steady without becoming overwhelming. He belongs here. They belong together. “We’ll find a way to get everyone out or we won’t. But we’ll do it together.”

Bellamy’s eyes harden as he stares down at her. He brushes a lock of hair off her sweaty forehead. “I can’t be the reason you get hurt.”

Clarke breathes sharply through her nose, tears gathering in her eyes and threatening to fall. She cards her fingers on the messy curls at the base of his head, tugging gently for emphasis. “I can’t lose you either okay? So I’m staying.”

The muscle in his jaw jumps but after a while he nods reluctantly.

They get dressed in silence. Or, Clarke gets dressed while Bellamy just buttons up his shirt and zips up his pants. The soft material of her sweater brushes against the giant hickey on the top of her breast, abrading the tender flesh. Each little sting and tiny burst of pain fills her with joy. They’ll go their separate ways for now but with that bruise it’ll be like she carries a little piece of Bellamy with her at all times.

Since they didn’t formulate a plan and Clarke has been gone long enough someone might have already noticed her absence, they agree to meet at the same time tomorrow. Clarke hugs him one last time before slipping out. “Promise you’ll be careful.”

“Cross my heart.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and places a kiss over it instead. She looks up to find him looking at her, bewildered, and she has the absurd feeling that she’s drowning. She can’t get enough air in her lungs and a warm, pleasant flush rises within her, mixing with the panic suddenly beating a dull song in her veins. 

Bellamy’s muscular chest expands as he takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to say something, but Clarke quickly stands on her tiptoes and kisses him. He responds seamlessly and she holds him tight to her before tearing herself away.

Clarke slams the door shut behind her, Bellamy frowning confusedly after her and the air laden with so much left unsaid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They reunite at last! What did you guys think? I love reading your your comments, you always have such insightful things to say!

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic comes from the song "You" by Radiohead.
> 
>  
> 
> [ This is me ](http://www.bellohmyblake.tumblr.com)


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